^mmmrn 

3   1822  01098   1553 


y  KUTHOR  OF 


r 


LJBRARY 

iir!IVERSlTY  OF 
<(MIA 
GO 


3   1822  01098  1553 


f5i 

/  r  7-^ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/brokendreamsOOgard 


A  NEW  BOOK, 

TJNIFOmi  WITH    THIS  VOLUME,   AND   BY  THE 
SAME  AUTHOR, 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

^  '§obtl  lit  0jrsc. 

BY   THE   AUTHOR  OP    "BROKEN  DREAMS." 


Sold  by  all  Booksellers,  and  sent  by  mail,  postage  free,  on 

receipt  of  price,  $1.50,  by 

G.    W.    CARIiETON    &   CO.,    Publishers, 

New  Yorli. 


BROKEN    DREAMS. 


CELIA  E.   OA^RDNEE, 

Author  of  "STOLEN  WATERS." 


'  'Tis  not  BO  much  a  broken  heart 
you  have  to  mourn,  as  ii  broken  dream  1 " 

IK.  Marvel. 


NEW    YOEK: 
G.    W.    Carleton    &   Co.^    Publishers. 

LONDON:    S.   LOW,   SON  &  CO. 
M.DCCC.LXXIir. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872,  by 

G.   W.   CAELETON  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Stereotyped  at  the 
WOMEN'S     PRINTING     HOUSE, 
66,  68  and  60  Park  Street, 
New  York. 


DEDICATION. 


To  those  who  linger  ''round  the  hearth  of  home  ! 
My  father,  mother,  sisters,  friend,  and  one 
Who,  while  these  scenes  VvefaintlT/  pencilled  here. 
Has  left  the  all  of  earth  he  held  ii\,ost  dear. 
And  gone  in  triumph  upward,  to  his  God. 

TO  THESE, 

And  all  my  sex  whose  feet  have  trod 
The  shadowed  paths  of  sorrow,  and  have  seen 
Their  brightest  fancies  merge  in  *^  broken  dreams," 

I     J)  *^  "^  i  '^  i^  1  "^ 

This  work  of  leisure  lours. 
This  fragile  garland  formed  of  Rope'' s  cruslted  flowers. 


1872. 


c.  E.  a. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Book  First 11 

Book  Second 27 

Book  Third 59 

Book  Fourth 73 

Book  Fifth 99 

Book  Sixth 141 

Book  Seventh  .        .■ 167 

Book  Eighth 189 

Book  NDiTH 211 

Book  Tenth 221 

L'Envoi '.        .  251 


#• 


BEOKEN    DKEAMS. 


BOOK    FIRST. 


"A  beauty  gay 
And  pure  as  apple-blooms,  which  show 
Outside  a  blush,  and  inside  snow." 


•'  Standing  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet. 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet." 


LONOfELIiOW. 


1* 


"f-^- 


^^\ 


'//, 


v\  ^/^ 


J  '  ^  ' 


ti^^ 


.::^ 


/^v' 


J 


Broken  Dreams 


"Tis  not  so  much,  a  broken  heart  you  have 
to  moiun,  as  a  broken  dream  1 " 

Ik.  Marvel. 


-ZOi- 


00k    Jfxrst, 


Eve's  curtains  fell  in  starry  loveliness ! 
The  sunset  hues  had  faded  in  the  west, 
And  moonlit  darkness,  shroviding  vale  and  mount) 
In  radiance  pale  wrapped  lawn,  and  shrub,  and  fount. 
The  fragrance  which  in  garden  borders  slept. 
Within  a  cool,  white-drap'ried  chamber  swept. 
And  kissed,  with  loving  touch,  the  cheek  of  one 
Low-bending  there — a  maiden,  fair  and  young ! 


12  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Beside  the  open  casement,  low  and  broad, 
She  knelt  and  mused — a  maiden's  happy  thoughts, 
"With  care  unclouded,  innocent  and  sweet, 
Bose-tinted,  pure,  and  fresh ! 

Her  dainty  feet 
To-day  had  stepped  on  one  more  round  of  time ! 
The  silver  bells,  which  rang  the  morning  chimes. 
Rang  in  her  eighteenth  birthday! — while  she  gazed 
On  entered  womanhood  with  glad  amaze. 

What  fairy  dreams  of  future  bliss  she  dreamed ! 
What  new,  broad  founts  of  joy  before  her  seemed  ! 
How  bright  the  world  that  day  should  usher  in  ! 
She  gave  no  thought  to  future  woe  and  sin. 
Alas  !  that  one  so  innocent  and  fair. 
Should  find,  with  woman's  impotent  despair. 
But  "  broken  dreams,"  and  hopes  all  empty  air  ! 

Life. opened  bright  before  her  baby  eyes  ; 
She  saw  and  welcomed  it  with  shy  surprise ; 
Guileless  and  swift  her  lovely  childhood  passed, 
Sheltered  in  loving  arms  from  all  rough  blasts ; 
And  youth  was  but  a  brief  and  happy  dream — 
To-day  finds  her  a  woman  ! — sweet  eighteen  ! 


BROKEN  DREAM8.  13 

'   The  day  has  passed !  at  eve  she  kneels  alone, 

Beside  the  open  casement  in  her  room. 

Around  her  fleecy  folds  of  snowy  white 

Sweep,  gently  swayed  by  evening  breezes  light ; 

By  ribbons  of  pale  lavender  confined, 

Her  soft,  dark  hair  floats  in  the  summer  wind ; 

Her  rounded  arm  rests  on  the  broad,  low  seat. 

And  pressed  against  it  is  her  peach-bloom  cheek. 

The  face  is  childish  yet,  but  'neath  that  brow 

Lie  powers  of  thought  and  purpose,  even  now ; 

The  mouth,  though  sweet  and  rosy,  firm  withal ; 

And  when  it  smiles,  holds  all  in  pleasant  thrall. 

Eyes,  purple  violets,  wet  with  morning  dew  !  — 

Those  violet  eyes,  so  rare,  so  sweet,  so  true ! 

When  first  the  dainty  fringes  parted  wide, 

"  My  Pansy,  sweet  !  "  the  fond  young  mother  cried. 

No  name  so  suited  to  the  soft-eyed  babe, 

None  to  the  pretty  child,  the  lovely  maid : 

They  called  her  "  Pansy,"  without  more  ado ; 

Their  precious  "  Heart's-ease,"  Pansy  sweet  and  true. 

Her  parents'  first-born,  pride,  and  pet  was  she  : 
Earth's  richest  mines,  or  depths  of  pulsing  sea, 


14  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Could  nothing  yield  so  precious,  priceless,  rare  : 
Naught  to  be  guarded  with  such  jealous  care, 
As  was  this  child,  this  Heav'n-intrusted  gift ! 
No  cloud  so  heavy  but  her  smile  could  lift. 
No  grief  so  deep  her  voice  could  not  disjjel, 
But  while  they  wept,  yet  murmured  "  it  is  well  I  " 

With  disposition  sunny,  sweet,  and  gay, 
A  laugh  that  chased  all  gloom  and  tears  away, 
Were  blended  self-reliance,  strength,  and  will ; 
And  though  with  grace  all  small  points  yielding,  still, 
When  larger  issues  were  at  stake,  she  stood 
Immovable,  whate'er  opposed.     The  good 
A  champion  ever  found  in  her ;  the  bad. 
What  strong  and  ready  sympathies  she  had. 

Her  natui'e  yet  had  found  no  scope  to  show 
How  sweet  and  sound  its  depths.     Life  had  been  so 
Serene,  untroubled,  heaped  with  summer  flowers, 
So  sheltered,  free  from  blighting  care,  her  powers 
Of  stern  endurance  undeveloped  lay, 
Awaiting  life's  dark  days,  which  into  play 
Should  bring  her  nature's  hidden  sources,  show 
How  grand  and  strong  the  depths  concealed  below 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  15 

Those  witcliing  smiles,  that  happy,  girlish  face, 
Those  laughing,  lovely  eyes,  wherein  no  trace 
Of  sadness  ever  seemed  to  linger.     Oh ! 
Woman's  sad  heritage  of  bitter  woe. 
Of  disappointment,  pain,  and  sharp  regret 
Had  passed  her  by.     She  little  knew,  as  yet, 
Of  life's  stern  trials. 

Pretty  child,  thank  God 
For  happy  youth  and  childhood  !  for  the  broad. 
Sunshiny  way  thy  youthful  feet  have  trod  ! 
The  Hand  that's  showered  blessings  on  thy  path. 
In  store  for  thee  some  bitter  trials  hath. 
Thy  woman's  feet  a  way  must  ofttimes  tread. 
Where  thorns  Ke  thickly  strewn,  while  overhead 
Dark,  gloomy  clouds  droop  low.     But  keep  undimmed 
Thine  eye  of  faith,  thy  steady  trust  in  Him 
Who  sends  both  cross  and  crown ;  keep  pure  and  bright 
Thy  woman's  truth  and  honor,  and  the  night 
Shall  merge  in  dawn  of  roseate  splendor,  day 
From  which  all  clouds  and  gloom  have  flown  away. 

Although  of  nature  high  and  broad  and  deep, 
Of  temper  amiable  and  kind  and  sweet, 


16  BROKEIT  DREAMS. 

I  would  not  one  sliould  deem  I  mean  to  paint 
A  creature  all  perfection,  without  taint 
Of  fault  or  blemish. 

I've  no  love,  T  own, 
For  faultless  characters !     To  One  alone, 
Perfection  doth  pertain.     And  though  I've  known 
Large  share  of  men  and  women,  high  and  low, 
With  natures  broad  and  narrow,  sharp  and  slow, 
Known  many  worthy  of  profound  respect. 
With  high  and  noble  qualities,  I  yet 
Have  never  seen  e'en  one  without  defect 
Or  flaw  in  character : — one  with  regret 

o 

For  nothing  past,  no  word  or  deed  of  wrong — 

None  but  proved  weakest  where  they  seemed  most  strong. 

If  there  a/re  perfect  natures,  such  as  we 
Oft  read  about,  'tis  very  strange  to  me 
I  never  yet  e'en  one  have  chanced  to  see ! 
Nor  would  I  have  it  thus !     We  could  not  give 
To  God  the  reverence  due,  if  while  we  live. 
We  in  all  others  did  not  fail  to  find 
The  good  the  Trinity  alone  combine. 

Let  God  be  God,  and  human  creature  hnman ! 
Let  man  be  man,  and  woman  truly  woman  ! 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  17 

I  aim  to  paint  from  Nature ;  thus  cannot 
A  heroine  give  to  you  without  a  spot. 
I  give  a  woman,  spirited  as  mild, 
As  passionate  as  pure.     Present  a  child, 
A  little  wilful,  just  a  trifle  spoiled, 
As  only  daughters  often  are  !  and  wild. 
Some  people  called  her.     True  it  is,  her  laugh 
Rang  ever  clearest,  sweetest ;  yet  not  half 
Complete  without  her  any  gath'ring  seemed, 
And  hearts,  unruled  by  envy,  owned  her  queen. 

One  playmate  of  her  childhood  God  had  given, 
A  brother  dear,  at  this  time  just  eleven. 
A  high-strung,  wilful,  handsome,  black-eyed  boy, 
At  once  his  sister's  torment,  pride,  and  joy. 
A  child  that  sJiould  been  ruled  with  strict,  firm  hand, 
One  who  could  not  the  least  indulgence  stand. 
But  who,  if  given  an  inch,  would  take  an  ell, 
And  always  fought  for  his  own  wayward  will. 
Instead,  if  sometimes  he  was  made  to  bend 
His  stubborn  will  to  others,  oft  the  end 
Of  conflict  sharp  left  him  victorious, 
And  future  curbing  more  laborious. 


18  BBOKEN  DBEAMS. 

A  "wisli  one  time  denied,  wlien  next  expressed, 
His  foolish  parents  granted  his  request. 
At  one  time  pimishment  severe  was  given, 
For  acts  which  next  time  no  rebuke  would  win. 
His  sister  loved  him  dearly ;  petted,  praised, 
Caressed,  led,  guided,  and  in  many  ways 
Controlled,  by  force  of  stronger  will  than  his. 
Desire  and  act. 

So  true  it  ever  is. 
The  strongest  always  rules,  though  strength  be  sheathed 
Persuasion,  gentleness,  and  love  beneath. 
In  truth,  his  sister  ruled  the  house  !  her  word 
Was  law  immutable  whenever  heard. 
But  ruling  did  not  spoil  her :  not  alone 
For  selfish  ends  she  used  the  pow'r  she  owned. 

Their  mother,  young  when  Pansy  was  eighteen, 
A  woman  handsome  as  is  often  seen — 
With  slender,  almost  girlish  form,  and  mien 
If  haughty,  graceful  and  attractive  too. 
Soft,  heavy  hair  of  darkest  midnight  hue, 
Fine,  clear-cut,  haughty  featvires,  large,  dark  eyes. 
Brilliant  as  Winter's  starry  midnight  skies. 


BROKEN  DREAMS  19 

And  mind  that,  cast  in  Nature's  fairest  mould, 

To  her  ope'd  riches,  treasures  all  untold — 

Had  sev'ral  years  been  slowly  losing  ground 

In  health  and  strength  j  as  every  Spring  rolled  round. 

Still  more  the  invalid  herself  she  found ; 

Till  now,  a  weary  prisoner  she'd  become, 

Confined  within  the  limits  of  her  room, 

And  sufiering  untold  hours  of  racking  pain. 

The  change  so  gradual  was,  so  slowly  came. 

It  startled  less ;  and  only  looking  back 

To  what  she  was,  her  daughter  traced  the  track 

Of  cruel,  sharjj,  insidious  disease. 

Which  ever  such  sad,  fearful  ravage  leaves. 

Sweet  Pansy  ministered  with  loving  care. 

With  sunny  smiles,  fond  words,  and  cheerful  air, 

To  all  the  fretful  invalid's  caprice, 

Although  her  efibrts  often  failed  to  please. 

Her  father,  a  refined,  well-read,  proud  man, 
Fond  of  his  home,  his  friends,  his  wealth,  and  land. 
Worshipped  his  lovely  daughter,  first-born  child, 
.  And  found  his  sweetest  pleasure  in  her  smile. 
And  she  to  him  gave  love  as  warm  and  deep — 
But  more  unselfish — and  obedience  sweet. 


20  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Her  lover — for  what  girl  in  this  fast  age 
Has  readied  eighteen  without  some  tender  gage — 
Was  Alfred  Sumner ;  fair-haired,  tall,  blue-eyed, 
A  youth  of  twenty ;  who,  of  those  that  vied 
With  hJfti  for  Pansy's  favor,  won  the  meed, 
And  looked  with  pity  on  his  friends'  defeat. 
His  home  was  in  a  western  city  far. 
But  he'd  been  sent,  as  many  young  lads  are. 
To  eastern  schools  his  studies  to  pursue ; 

And  therefore  came  to  B. For  though  'tis-  true 

All  fair  New  England's  noted,  justly  too, 

For  high  scholastic  privilege,  no  town 

Held  higher  rank  than  this  the  country  'round. 

The  school,  of  which  an  inmate  he  had  been 
For  years,  was  well-conducted,  disciplined. 
And  taught.     Its  pupils,  lads  of  every  age. 
All  rich  men's  sons  ;  and  almost  every  state 
From  shore  to  shore  was  represented  here ; 
And  though  the  school  had  rivals,  yet  'twas  clear 
None  in  the  town  had  ranks  more  promptly  filled. 
Its  situation  'mong  the  breezy  hills 
That  skirt  so  many  of  our  eastern  towns, 
And  which  such  pufls  of  clear,  pure  air  send  down, 


BBOKEI^  DREAMS.  21 

Gave  health  and  strength  to  many  slender  boys, 
Which  filled  their  anxious  parents'  hearts  with  joy. 

"  The  Institute,"  located  scarce  a  mile 
Outside  the  village  limits,  all  the  while 
Boasting  some  lads  that  thought  themselves  young  men, 
No  small  attraction  evidently  lent 
To  village  social  life.     Conceited,  vain, 
As  city-bred  boys  often  are,  'tis  plain, 
They  flirted  with  a  skill  and  art  indeed, 
Worthy  much  older  triflers  ;  little  heed 
They  gave  to  what  results  their  acts  might  lead, 
-Although  I  must  confess,  the  village  maids 
Were  not  so  simple  as  they're  oft  portrayed  ; 
And  many  a  youth  acknowledged  he  had  been 
Wofully  duped  by  girls  he'd  boasted  "  green." 

In  one  of  fair  New  England's  fairest  towns. 
Our  Pansy's  home  was  situate.     High  mounts 
Enclosed  the  emerald  valley  on  all  sides 
In  antique  setting.     Deep,  and  clear,  and  wide, 
A  noble  river  glided  smoothly  through, 
And  many  a  tiny,  murmuring  streamlet  too. 
No  spot  in  all  the  place  but  gave  a  ^dew 


22  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

Exquisite,  picturesque,  sublime.     An  eye 

Artistic,  every  scene  would  gratify. 

And  then  what  wealth  of  richly  shaded  green. 

In  the  luxuriant  foliage  is  seen, 

When  June,  that  royal  month,  crowns  mount  and  glen 

With  coronet  of  summer's  rarest  gems, 

And  showers  with  lavish  hand  both  far  and  near, 

The  sweetest  flowers  of  all  the  lovely  year. 

Within  the  centre  of  this  pretty  town. 
On  which  the  crested  hills  looked  grandly  down. 
Was  Pansy  Grey's  loved  home.     The  house,  a  fine, 
Large,  gothic  cottage :  many  a  flow'ring  vine 
Enwreathed  the  trellised  portico,  and  climbed 
To  pointed  window- casement,  hanging  there 
A  shade,  with  trac'ry  delicate  and  fair ; 
And  tossing  through  the  dainty,  shaded  rooms. 
The  incense  of  their  ravishing  perfume. 
The  grounds  were   filled  with   trees,  and   shrubs,  and 

flowers, 
With  here  and  there  a  tiny  rustic  bower ; 
A  fountain's  soft,  pellucid  waters  fell 
In  marble  basin,  girt  with  pink-lined  shells ; 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  23 

In  front  a  gravelled  walk  swept  to  the  street, 
Where  rustic  gate  shut  in  the  sweet  retreat ; 
And  in  the  rear,  a  smooth  and  close-cut  lawn, 
To  pebbled  river  edge,  sloped  gently  down. 


BEOKEN    DREAMS. 


BOOK    SECOND. 


"Wiy  should  her  fleeting  day-dream  fade  unspoten. 
Like  daffodils  that  die  with  sheatha  unbroken  ?  " 

Holmes. 


"Whom  first  we  love  we  seldom  wed  1 " 


BROKEN  Dreams. 


00 fi    ^zcanln. 


The  lazy  summer  days  speed  swiftly  by, 
And  golden  August  comes.     The  meadows  lie, 
And  in  the  fructifying,  genial  light 
Of  glad,  midsummer  sunshine,  bask  their  bright 
And  graceful  heads  of  bendiag,  waving  grain, 
Heavy  with  rip'ning  fruit.     O'er  hill  and  plain 
There  broods  the  purple  haze,  the  pulsing  air, 
Of  summer's  sleepy  queen ;  if  passing  fair, 
Voluptuous  and  indolent  as  well ; 
And  yet  her  tropic  bosom's  every  swell 
Reveals  the  passionate  and  glowing  life 
Which  beats  beneath  the  lazy  surface,  rife 


28  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

With,  bloom  and  beauty.     On  the  southern  breeze, 
Perfume  like  that  which  floats  o'er  southern  seas, 
Seems  wafted  fresh  from  spicy  tropic  bowers, 
And  every  breath's  a  "  balm  of  thousand  flowers." 
The  orchards  toss  from  freighted  branches  down. 
Their  tempting  burden,  strewing  all  the  ground 
With  luscious  sweetness.     Garden  borders  yield 
A  world  of  blush  and  beauty,  and  the  fields 
Are  sprinkled  too  with  Nature's  gift  of  bloom. 
The  forest  aisles  seem  wrapped  in  sullen  gloom, 
So  dense  their  fretted  arches.     Early  mom 
Is  vocal  with  the  thrilling,  praiseful  song 
Of  many  bright-hued  birds — gay  visitants 
From  far-off  homes  in  sunny  southern  lands. 
The  locust's  song,  the  busy  hum  of  bees. 
The  low  of  kine,  the  sigh  of  waving  trees. 
The  sound  of  fretting  water  makes  the  noon 
Melodious  too.     And  when  the  crescent  moon 
Concludes  the  long,  sweet  twilight,  and  the  stars 
Attend  her  majesty's  triumphal  car. 
In  journeys  on  the  fair  reverse  of  heaven, 
■  And  sultry  day  is  lost  in  jewelled  even. 
The  song  of  "  whippoorwill  "  the  silence  breaks — 
The  sad  refrain  the  movirnful  echoes  take. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  29 

And  send  it  back  with  added  sadness  fraught. 
The  mournful  echoes  waken  mournful  thought, 
Until  the  cheerful  call  of  "  katy-did  " 
Dispels  the  ba'neful  reverie,  and  bids 
Echo  and  thought  begone. 

The  summer  days, 
So  full  of  blossom,  fruit,  and  happy  lay, 
Brought  in  their  sleepy  flitting,  changes,  too ; 
To  some  sad  partings  brought.     The  Institute 
Would  soon  dissolve  its  merry  band  of  lads. 
For  summer's  long  vacation.     Many  glad. 
Fond  parents'  hearts  were  beating  high  with  joy, 
At  thought  of  meeting  soon  their  absent  boys ; 
And  many  happy,  bright-eyed,  laughing  maids, 
In  pensive  sigh,  and  thoughtful  eye,  betrayed 
Regret  at  parting,  and  perhaps  distrust 
Lest  all  the  pretty  vows  should  prove  Like  dust. 
Which  the  first  breath  of  absence  should  disperse — 
Their  names  become  a  mem'ry  faint,  or  worse, 
Forgotten  quite. 

Bvit  what  to  Pansy  Grey 
Had  come  with  these  warm,  bright  midsummer  days. 
Since  early  June  her  birthday  ushered  in, 
With  dreams  of  joy  that  era  should  begin ! 


30  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Not  many  steps  in  entered  womanhood, 
Which  looked  so  fair  in  fancy's  light,  she  took, 
Before  her  feet  had  felt  the  prick  of  thorns 
Which  strew  the  path  of  every  woman  born 
Of  poor  frail  Eve's  descendants.     "  Woman's  lot " 
Was  on  her,  and  with  pangs  she  ne'er  forgot. 
She  saw  her  lovely  dream,  as  brief  as  sweet. 
Fade  into  empty  air.     With  anguish  deep 
She  watched  its  slow  dissolving,  thrust  aside 
The  mem'ry  of  the  happy  past,  and  tried 
With  woman's  calm  endurance,  and  the  strength 
Her  noble  nature  held,  and  which  at  length 
Stern  sorrow  had  developed,  to  forget 
And  conquer.     Pretty  one,  thank  God,  as  yet 
You've  but  a  "  broken  dream  "  to  mourn,  not  heart. 
And  strength  and  courage  let  that  thought  impart. 

My  reader,  doubtless  to  your  mind  I  gave 
A  wrong  impression,  when  of  Pansy  Grey's 
Young  friend  I  spoke  as  lover  :  doubtless  you 
Inferred  he  was  declared,  accepted,  too; 
But  that  was  error.     His  attentions  had. 
In  truth,  been  very  marked,  and  'twas  with  glad. 
Strong  thrills  of  triumph,  he  at  length  perceived 
He'd  distanced  all  competitors,  believed 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  31 

He  now  stood  first  in  pretty  Pansy's  heart. 
The  time  approaching  when  they  soon  must  part, 
Perhaps  for  long,  as  this  vacation  brought 
His  school-days'  termination,  Sumner  thought 
'Twere  best  that  he  should  speak,  and  render  thus 
"  Assurance  doubly  sure." 

"With  happy  trust 
He  sought  her  home  one  pleasant,  balmy  eve 
In  early  August.     Being  well  received 
By  Pansy's  parents  ever,  he  believed 
He  need  anticipate  from  them  not  one 
Objection  to  his  suit.     With  her  alone 
He  felt  the  issue  lay ;  nor  did  he  fear 
Rejection  there.     I  think  no  lover  e'er 
"Went  to  the  time  of  trial  more  assured. 
Or  buoyant  with  a  love  more  fond  and  pure. 
And  yet  he  was  not  a  conceited  man — 
Or  I  may  say  at  least,  not  more  so  than 
His  sex  in  general.     He  had,  indeed, 
No  little  reason  not  to  fear  that  he'd 
Much  obstacle  encounter.     So  he  went 
To  Pansy's  home,  with  every  thought  intent 
Upon  the  evening's  pleasant  task  in  store. 


32  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

WitMn  the  pretty  parlor's  long  glass  door 
He  met  the  blushing  girl.     Her  usual  seat, 
Beside  the  open  window  of  the  neat 
And  handsome  sitting-room,  gave  her  a  view 
Of  street,  and  gate,  and  gravelled  pathway  too  ; 
A  well-known  foi-m's  approach  had  sent,  therefore, 
The  watcher  to  the  open  parlor  door. 

Did  Sumner's  face  betray  his  heart's  high  hopes 
As  in  his  own  her  soft  white  hand  he  'closed  ? 
Or  did  the  ardent  clasping  tell  the  tale, 
And  hide  those  violet  eyes  beneath  the  veil 
Of  heavy  fringes,  flush  the  clear,  soft  cheek, 
And  thriU  the  girlish  voice  so  passing  sweet  ? 
A  moment's  careless  chatting  where  they  met. 
And  then  with  one  consent  the  house  they  left. 
And  slowly  strolled  down  to  the  river's  shore. 

The  night  was  lovely  !   Calm,  and  burnished  o'er. 
The  noble  stream  slipped  quietly  along, 
With  scarce  a  murmur  of  its  usual  song. 
The  tiny  ripples  laving  pebbled  beach. 
Across  the  stream,  in  varied,  lofty  reach, 
The  noble  tree-crowned  mountains  towered  hich, 
Sliarply  defined  against  the  placid  sky 


BnOKEN  DREAMS.  33 

Of  cloudless  evening,  where  there  lingered  yet 
The  rosy  hues  the  royal  day-god  left, 
When  taking  his  departure  from  the  scene, 
Where  in  his  absence  reigned  his  lovely  queen. 
The  air  was  clear  as  autumn  mornings  are, 
Ere  Indian  svimmer  comes  :  and  from  afar. 
The  voice  of  song  was  wafted  to  the  ear. 
Sweet  as  canary's  warble,  full  and  clear ; 
And  told  a  tale  of  youth  and  happy  hearts, 
The  witching  joy  a  lovely  eve  imparts. 
When  floating  lazily  adown  a  stream, 
Eretted  with  silver  by  the  moon's  soft  beams. 
Ah,  yes  !  a  tale  of  youth  and  sunny  dreams. 
Of  hopes  unblighted,  and  a  life  which  seems 
As  yet,  a  glowing,  cloudless  summer  day ; 
Ere  grief,  and  pain,  and  care  have  snatched  away 
The  ring  of  gladness  from  the  bird-like  voice, 
The  swell  of  hope,  and  love,  and  youthful  joys. 

Just  where  the  lawn  was  merged  in  golden  beach, 
And  just  beyond  the  dimpling  water's  reach, 
A  templed  arbor  stood  :     Its  rustic  seats 
A  lovely  view  commanded :     This  retreat, 
2* 


34  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

A  favored  haunt  of  Pansy's,  often  held 

A  form  of  strong  and  manly  grace  as  well. 

And  so  with  tacit  acquiescence  then, 

Their  careless  stroll  was  ended  there  again. 

No  lover,  surely,  more  auspicious  scene 

E'er  had,  or  wished,  to  merge  his  lovely  dream 

In  sweet  reality ! 

With  short  delay 
He  broached  the  subject  which  had  all  the  way 
Been  trembling  on  his  lips.     On  Pansy's  cheek, 
The  flush  his  coming  called  there,  still  burned  deep ; 
The  violet  eyes  were  turned  away  from  him, 
Fixed  on  the  distant  mountains,  growing  dim 
In  eve's  "  purpureal  light."     One  dimpled  hand 
Pressed  idly  'gainst  her  lips  a  dainty  fan, 
The  other  lay  upon  the  rustic  seat. 
But  not  for  long  !  for  one  whose  pulses  beat 
With  strong  vibrations,  from  its  resting-place 
Lifted,  and  clasped  it  close.     On  Pansy's  face 
The  rosy  flush  still  brighter,  deeper  burned, 
As  her  audacious  lover  slowly  turned 
The  smUing  lips  and  downcast  eyes  around. 

"Pansy!" 

The  shaded  eyes  stUl  sought  the  ground. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  35 

Tlie  rosy  lips  unclosed  for  no  reply. 

He  gazed  a  moment  witli  impassioned  eye 

Upon  the  tell-tale  face,  then  spoke  again : 

"  Pansy,  next  week  our  summer  school-term  ends ; 
And  when  I  leave  this  pretty,  eastern  town, 
Where  I  so  many  kindly  friends  have  found, 
So  many  pleasant,  happy  hours  have  passed, 
'Twill  be  for  long.     This  term  will  be  my  last, 
For  with  it  ends  my  school  days.     Thus,  this  eve, 
I  come  to  crave  a  boon,  I  come  to  leave 
With  you,  the  dearest  friend  I  here  can  claim, 
A  gift,  that  sometimes  shall  recall  my  name 
With  thrill  of  pleasure,  one  that  shall  insure 
Remembrance,  when  this  moonlight,  soft  and  ptire, 
Shines  on  me  in  my  far-off  western  home. 
And  you  are  sitting  here,  but  all  alone  !  " 

The  shadows  swiftly  fell,  and  Pansy  hailed 
With  joy  the  delicate,  impervious  veil. 
Which,  while  her  features'  outlines  it  revealed, 
It  their  expressive  changes  yet  concealed. 
Her  hand  he  still  with  warm,  firm  pressure  held, 
But  only  for  a  moment,  had  compelled 


36  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Her  face  to  turn  to  him :  for  there  he  read 
That  from  those  artless  lips  he  need  not  dread 
Refusal  of  his  suit,  and  therefore  soon 
Released  the  blushing  captive. 

He  resumed 
With  scarce  a  moment's  pause  : 

"  And  thus,  the  boon 
I  crave  is  Pansy's  love  !  The  gift  I  bring 
Is  all  my  heart,  and  as  a  pledge,  this  ring : 
And  Pansy,  love,  I  seal  the  whole  with  this." 

He  paused,  then  drew  her  close,  and  pressed  a  kiss 
Upon  the  sweet  and  unresisting  lips 
Of  her  he  held,  and  knew  his  ardent  wish 
Was  granted,  in  that  mute,  but  sweet  assent. 
No  words  of  love  could  given  more  content, 
Than  did  her  passive  acquiescence  yield. 

A  ray  of  moonlight  peeping  in,  revealed 
With  sudden  flash  the  costly  pledge  he  brought, 
As  he  the  gKtt'ring  emblem  of  their  troth 
Placed  on  the  taper  finger  of  the  hand 
'  He  now  might  claim  as  his.     And  all  the  land     ' 
No  hearts  contained,  that  lovely  summer  niwht, 
That  beat  more  high  with  joy,  held  hopes  more  bright, 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  37 

Or  less  foreboding  felt  of  coining  pain, 
Of  days  of  bitter  grieving,  than  those  twain 
How  sad  it  is,  that  sorrow  ever  crowds 
Close  on  the  heels  of  joy  !  that  heavy  clouds 
Must  darken  soon  the  clearest  summer  sky, 
And  disappointment  dim  the  brightest  eye  I 

When — after  chatting  for  a  happy  hour 
Upon  the  portico,  where  climbing  flowers 
The  night-breeze  gently  swayed,  and  filled  the  air 
With  sweetest  perfume,  while  the  tendrils  fair 
Kissed  the  flushed  cheek,  and  wreathed  the  heavy  curls 
Which  swept  the  temples  of  the  happy  girl 
Behind  the  leafy  screen, — the  hour  grew  late, 
They  parted  at  the  little  rustic  gate, 
To  meet  once  more  when  on  the  pretty  town 
Queen  Luna  and  her  suite  again  looked  down, 
And  when  the  joyful  lover  hoped  to  crown 
The  night's  success,  by  gaining  to  their  troth 
Consent  from  Pansy's  parents.     Not  a  thought 
Of  their  refusal  marred  his  dreams  that  night ; 
Sleeping  or  waking,  all  were  glad  and  bright. 


Another  sultry  day  passed  swiftly  on. 
And  brought  a  low'ring  eve !     Dark  clouds  bent  down. 


38  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Freighted  with  storm  and  tempest :  Now  and  then 

The  heavy,  tumbling  masses,  parting,  sent 

A  flash  of  golden  light  from  out  the  pent 

And  heaving  bosom  of  the  brooding  storm ; 

And  low  and  ominous,  as  if  to  warn 

Of  pending  danger,  came  the  distant  boom 

Of  mutt'ring  thunder  :  and  the  frightened  moon 

Seemed  flying  from  the  swiffc-pvirsuing  clouds. 

The  rising  wind,  with  moans  which  grew  more  loud 

With  every  passing  moment,  shook  and  tossed 

The  topmost  branches  of  the  trees,  'till  lost 

In  that  deceitful  calm,  which  seems  to  breed 

The  fiercer  tempest  when  the  gale  succeeds. 

E'en  in  the  gloom  of  such  a  pending  storm, 
The  templed  arbor  on  the  grassy  lawn 
Again  was  occupied !  For  Pansy  there. 
To  wait  her  lover's  coming,  had  repaired, 
While,  confident  of  winning  their  consent 
To  his  desire,  he  to  her  parents  went. 

With  heart  unquiet  as  the  sighing  wind, 
Which  tapped  and  rattled  at  the  latticed  blind. 
Impatient  as  the  fretting  waves,  that  rose 
And  fell  below,  she  waited  for  the  close 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  39, 

Of  wliat  to  hex*  a  long,  long  conf 'rence  seemed — 
Waited  to  know  if  all  her  lovely  dreams 
Should  be  fulfilled,  or  dashed  in  ruin  down, 
To  lie  in  broken  fragments  on  the  ground. 
In  vain  she  told  herself  no  cause  she  had 
To  fear  her  hopes'  o'erthrow.     In  vain  she  bade 
Her  heart  to  cease  its  ti'embling,  rise  above 
The  fears  no  reasoning  could  yet  remove ; 
In  vain  she  thought  of  how  her  parents  kind 
Had  ever  borne  her  slightest  wish  in  mind, 
Left  no  desire  ungratified, — e'er  sought 
Her  highest  happiness  and  good  :  and  ought 
She  now  their  love  and  kindness  to  distrust, 
To  fear  opposal  when  she  had  so  mucJi 
At  stake  ?     Would  they  not  recollect  their  own 
Young,  happy  days,  and  see  'twas  not  alone 
Her  present  pleasure  their  reply  involved. 
But  life-long  happiness  ?     Could  they  resolve 
To  crush  her  new-born  hopes  at  one  fell  blow, 
And  blight  her  happy  life  ? 

She  did  now  know — 
The  pretty  child  ! — that  though  there's  naught  "  so  sweet 
In  life  as  love's  young  dream,"  'tis  not  so  deep. 


40  BUOKEN  DBEAM8.     . 

And  strong,  and  lasting  as  the  yonng  heart  deems, 

When  'neath  the  spell  of  that  bewild'ring  dream. 

That  hope,  though  crushed,  will  spring  to  life  again, 

And  that  it  takes  a  world  of  grief  and  pain. 

Takes  many  a  hurt,  and  disappointment  sharp, 

To  crush  a  woman's  buoyant,  hopeful  heart. 

She  had  not  learned  not  many  stand  the  test 

Of  silence  and  long  absence ;  that  the  best 

And  truest  men,  and  women  too,  forget 

The  friends  they  loved,  before  "  'round  absence  crept 

The  weed  of  custom,"  and  their  names  become 

A  mem'ry,  and  no  more.     She,  pretty  one, 

Had  many  bitter  lessons  yet  to  learn, 

Many  a  cold,  sharp  corner  yet  to  turn. 

The  night  grew  blacker !  bright  and  brighter  flashed 
The  golden  chains  o'erhead.     More  near  and  fast 
The  rolling  thunder  boomed.     The  wind  rushed  past 
"With  louder  moan  and  fiercer,  angrier  blast. 
And  as  the  first  large  raindrops  patt'ring  fell. 
There  came  a  hasty  step  she  knew  full  well, 
And  Sumner  stood  within  the  arbor  door. 
At  last  her  vigil,  long  and  lone,  was  o'er. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  Al 

A  blinding  flash  of  light  revealed  the  scene, 
And  Pansy  quickly  sprang,  with  startled  scream. 
To  meet  her  welcome  friend. 

"Why,  Pansy,  dear!" 
He  said,  "I  did  not  dream  you'd  tarry  here 
Until  the  tempest  broke.     Come  in,  my  child. 
Before  the  storm  grows  yet  more  fierce  and  wild ; 
My  precious  Heart's-ease,  come  !  " 

He  caught  her  hand, 
And  drew  her  out  upon  the  damp'ning  sand, 
Across  the  lawn,  the  garden,  np  the  steps, 
Nor  paused,  nor  scarcely  spoke,  until  they  left 
The  wind  and  rain  and  darkness  all  outside, 
And  breathless,  panting,  stood  within  the  bright 
And  cosey  parlor,  where  the  brilliant  light. 
And  curtains  closely  drawn,  shut  out  the  night 
And  tempest. 

Fail*  as  artist's  fairest  dream 
Of  woman.  Pansy  looked,  as  o'er  her  streamed 
The  soft  and  beautifying  light.     Her  cheek 
Flushed  from  the  rapid  walk,  and  dimpled  deep 
By  witching  smiles  which  wreathed  the  scarlet  lips, 
Sweet  as  a  rose-bud's  heart,  ere  o'er  it  flits 


42  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  dainty  southern  bird,  and  gayly  dips 

His  fairy  beak  within  the  cup,  to  sip 

The  honeyed  dew  and  nectar  hiding  there. 

The  eyes,  Spring's  dewy  violets !  eyes  so  rare, 

And  yet  so  passing  lovely — true  as  blue  ! 

The  heavy  fringes  deepening  their  hue 

To  purple  pansies.     Eyes  that  smiled  to-night, 

And  shone  and  sparkled  with  a  glad,  soft  light. 

Her  sad  forebodings  now  forgotten  quite, 

Left  with  the  gloom  and  darkness  of  the  night. 

The  smooth,  white  forehead,  crowned  with    soft,    dark 

hair, 
Whose  simple  curls  swept  shoulders  gleaming  fair 
And  white,  beneath  the  snowy  muslin  robe, 
Which  'round  the  girlish  form  in  soft  folds  flowed, 
Relieved  and  brightened  by  the  knot  and  band 
And  sash  of  rosy  pink,  which  gently  spanned 
The  slender,  rounded  waist,  bound  back  the  hair, 
And  blushed  beneath  the  chin  so  round  and  fair. 
The  hands  were  white  and  soft,  and  gleaming  there, 
A  single  diamond  flashed. 

The  man  who  gazed 
Upon  the  lovely,  girlish  form  and  face. 


BROKEN'  DREAMS.  43 

Each  pretty  detail  of  the  picture  sweet, 

Took  in,  and  stamped  upon  his  heart.     The  deep 

And  long-dra"wn  sigh  that  heaved  his  manly  breast, 

Betrayed  the  sharp  regret  and  sad  unrest 

Which  swelled  within  his  heart.     The  heavy  sigh 

Smote  painfully  on  Pansy's  ear.     Her  eye 

Lost  all  the  gladness  that  had  sparkled  there ; 

Her  rosy  lips  forgot  to  smile  ;  her  fair, 

Soft  cheek  retained  no  more  its  peachy  flush  ; 

And  o'er  her  sinking  heart  again  there  rushed 

The  last  hour's  dark  forebodings. 

Sumner  drew 
Her  gently  to  a  seat  beside  him,  threw 
His  arm  around  her  slender  waist,  and  said — 
Resting  his  cheek  upon  the  lovely  head. 
While  lower  sank  the  poor  girl's  heart  with  dread — 
"  Oh,  Pansy,  dear,  our  happy,  lovelit  dreams 
Are  dashed  to  earth,  and  scarcely  one  bright  beam 
Of  hope  remains.     Your  parents  heard  my  plea. 
And  then,  with  one  consent,  refused  to  me 
The  boon  I  sought.     In  vain  I  plead  and  prayed 
For  one  small  ray  of  hope,  that  at  some  day 
Far  in  the  vista  of  the  coming  years, 
1  then  might  claim  the  gift  I  hold  so  dear— 


44  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

This  little  hand.     In  vain  I  urged  your  love. 
Your  disappointment  did  they  not  approve 
And  ratify  your  choice ;  reminding  them 
'Twas  not  my  happiness  alone,  which  then 
On  their  decision  hung.     But  not  one  plea 
Could  win  the  answer  sought,  and  give  to  me 
The  right  to  hold  you  thus,  and  know  you  mine. 
We  both  were  quite  too  young,  they  said,  and  time 
Would  ease  whatever  pain  we  nosv  might  know. 
The  wisdom,  too,  of  their  decision  show. 
That  absence  soon  would  teach  us  to  forget ; 
And  though  for  me  they  had  a  high  respect, 
Knew  naught  of  me  to  which  they  could  object, 
My  character  was  still  unformed,  as  yet. 
And  contact  with  the  world  might  prove  me  quite 
Unfit,  through  all  the  rougher  storms  of  life, 
To  shield  and  guard  their  treasure,  who  was  still 
A  mere  sweet,  happy  child,  who  to  their  will 
Would  bend  without  a  murmur.     And,  although 
I  urged  to  this,  that  time  alone  would  show 
How  far  I  might  be  worthy  of  their  trust. 
And  Pansj^'s  precious  love,  and  that  it  must 
The  child  develop  into  woman,  prove 
The  constancy  and  power  of  our  love, 


BBOEEN  DREAMS.  46 

And  each  of  their  objections  couki  remove, 
How  gladly  would  we  wait  for  their  consent, 
With  how  much  trust  and  patience  and  content. 
They  still  refused  to  give  me  any  hope. 
Oh  Pansy,  darling !  must  I  give  you  up  ? 
Can  you  not  see  a  single  ray  of  light 
In  all  the  gloom  around  us  ?  has  the  night 
No  star  to  cheer  us,  gives  it  not  e'en  one 
Bright  promise  of  a  rosy  dawn  to  come  ?  " 

The  girl  beside  him  listened  to  his  tale 
In  silence,  and  with  cheek  that  flushed  and  paled 
Alternately,  and  eye  that  flashed  and  dimmed. 
And  told  the  conflict  sharp  that  raged  within. 
Her  parents'  long  indulgence  ill  prepared 
Their  child  to  witness  tamely  all  her  fair. 
Sweet  hopes  demolished  at  one  cruel  blow. 
A  child  indeed  !  should  she  not  let  them  know 
There  slept  a  woman^s  strength  of  will  below 
'  The  grace  and  softness  of  their  pliant  child  ? 
Did  they,  indeed,  think  her  so  tame  and  mild. 
That  she  without  a  murmur  would  submit 
To  have  no  voice  in  what  they  must  admit 


46  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Concerned  herself  most  nearly  ?     They  would  find 
That,  far  too  late,  they  had  begun  to  bind 
Her  will  to  theirs  in  sweet  submission,  when 
She  had  so  much  at  issue.     That  'twas  then 
Too  late  to  have  a  wish  so  strong  denied, 
When  trivial  ones  had  long  been  gratified. 

The  fii'st  tumult  of  disappointment  brought 
Rebellion  ;  and  the  petted  child  forgot — 
In  indignation  at  the  cruel  "  no," 
Which  left  no  room  for  hope,  and  overthrow 
Of  all  their  happy  plans — the  rev'rence  due, 
The  sweet  obedience  and  gratitude. 
Their  love  and  kind  indulgence  hitherto 
Had  merited.     And  while  I'd  not  sustain 
A  child  in  disobedience,  I'd  aim 
To  censure  the  extravagant  extent. 
To  which  a  parent's  interference,  when 
Their  child's  whole  future  in  the  balance  hangs, 
Is  often  carried.     When,  with  careless  hands. 
They  dash  the  cup  of  joy  from  eager  lips. 
And  blight  the  lives  of  those  whose  happiness 
Should  been  their  aim. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  47 

Another  hour  passed  on ! 
Outside,  the  strength  and  fury  of  the  storm 
Had  spent  itself,  and  through  the  drifting  clouds 
The  moon  looked  forth,  and  from  her  sable  shroud 
Shone  clear  and  bright,  her  lovely  face  xmdimmed 
By  her  brief  hour  of  mourning.     But  within, 
The  clouds  in  all  their  blackness  still  hung  low, 
And  draped  two  hearts  in  sable  weeds  of  woe. 

At  last  the  lovers  parted  ;  Sumner  still 
Quite  unconsoled,  and  Pansy's  royal  will 
Yet  raging  in  rebellion.     They'd  discussed 
From  every  point  the  subject  uppermost 
In  both  their  hearts ;  but  had  as  yet  arrived 
At  no  conclusion.     Pansy  stUl  denied, 
"With  indignation  strong,  her  parents'  right 
To  rule  her  choice  in  such  a  case  as  this : 
And  Sumner,  all  his  wealth  of  new-found  bliss 
Dissolving  fast,  in  his  despair  could  see 
No  hope  of  brighter  days  to  come,  when  he 
The  treasure  he  was  losing  might  regain. 
And  when  he  said  "  good-night,"  a  thrill  of  pain 
Shot  through  his  heart,  as  he  recalled  how  high 
It  throbbed  with  hope  when  he  had  said  good-by 


48  BBOEEW  DBEAM8. 

To  this  dear  little  girl  the  night  before, 

And  turned  to  see  the  moonbeams  shining  o'er 

The  pretty  figure  at  the  rustic  gate, 

Wliich  smilingly  another  farewell  waved. 

In  contrast  with  this  pictui-e  came  the  one 

He  saw  to-night,  as  he  again  had  turned 

Por  one  last  look.     The  flow'r- wreathed  portico 

A  drooping  figtii-e  framed,  with  head  bent  low 

In  deep  dejection,  and  a  lovely  face. 

With  lips  that  had  no  smile,  and  eyes  that  gazed 

Through  gath'ring  tears  at  his  receding  form. 

From  this  night's  disappointment  there  was  bom 
In  Pansy's  stormy  heart  the  firm  resolve 
That  their  engagement  should  not  be  dissolved 
Without  a  sti-uggle.     She  would  see,  she  said. 
What  she  could  do  ! 

At  last  the  weary  liead 
Was  pillowed  in  the  little  dainty  bed  ; 
Sweet  sleep,  descending  softly,  tarried  there, 
Pressed  kisses  on  the  eyelids  white  and  fair, 
•  And  speedily  exhausted  Nature  claimed 
A  respite  for  the  weary  heart  and  brain. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  49 

Day  after  day  passed  rapidly  along, 
'Till  seven  dewy  eves  and  rosy  morns 
Slept  side  by  side  within  tlieir  silent  tombs 
In  vast  Eternity's  sepulcbral  rooms. 
Uncliangeable  their  good  or  evil  deeds — 
Their  records  closed,  theii'  fleeting  lives  complete. 

The  dying  days  had  also  brought  to  those 
Of  whom  I  write,  the  death  of  sickened  Hope. 
They  watched  the  rosy  child  grow  pale  and  faint, 
Droop  slowly  day  by  day,  mitO  with  pained 
And  sinking  hearts,  they  saw  their  first-born  die. 
With  whitened  cheeks,  and  mournful,  tearful  eyes, 
They  laid  their  lovely  infant  in  the  grave 
Of  buried  love  and  joy,  o'er  which  there  waved 
The  weeping  willow's  drooping  boughs  alone, 
Whereon  no  daisies  sprang,  no  gi-ass  had  grown. 
With  saddened  hearts  they  turned  away  at  last, 
Took  up  again  life's  burden,  which  the  past — 
Wherein  their  Hope  was  born  and  quickly  died — 
Had  rendered  heavy  that  was  erst  so  light, 
And  bravely  tried  to  banish  all  regret. 
And  learn  o'er  what  was  helpless,  not  to  fret. 

Poor  Pansy's  word  had  faithfully  been  kept ! 
3 


50  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

She  tried  indeed  to  "  see  what  she  could  do," 
But  shortly  found  that  she  was  vanquished  too. 
Not  after  one,  but  many  struggles  sharp. 
Did  she  the  cherished  wish  that  jBlled  her  heart 
Resign ;  consent  with  her  young  love  to  part 
As  friends,  and  friends  alone,  to  meet  no  more 
As  loved  and  lover, — watch  the  closing  door 
Between  their  throbbing  hearts,  which  happy  love 
Had  opened  wide,  and  sadly  trace  above 
The  fastened  portals — "  Closed  forevermore  ! 
Parental  will  has  locked  the  golden  door. 
And  dropped  the  key  within  despair's  deep  well. 
Whose  bitter  waters  clutched  it  as  it  fell !  " 

Yes,  selfishness  had  triumphed  !     Pleased  to  see 
Their  child  attention,  homage,  love  receive, 
They  yet  desired  to  keep  her  aU  their  own. 
Free  from  all  other  ties.     And  there  alone 
The  motive  for  their  stern  refusal  lay. 
Sweet  Pansy  doubtless  would  have  won  the  day, 
Had  she  no  nobler,  more  unselfish  been. 
Than  those  who  bore  and  reared  her.     As  for  him- 
The  man  she  loved — her  parents  each  confessed 
They  found  no  fault  in  him :  they  could  not  rest 
Refusal  on  her  friend's  vmworthiness. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  51 

Their  youth  was  all  theii'  plea :  and  though  'twas  plain 
Time  surely  'cl  make  them  old  enough,  in  vain 
That  argument  to  theirs  the  girl  opposed  ; 
It  had  no  weight.     In  vain  did  she  propose, 
As  Sumner  had,  their  marriage  to  delay 
For  years,  were  it  desired,  if  they  would  say 
She  then  should  have  their  blessing  and  consent. 
'Twas  all  of  no  avail.     And  when  at  length 
They  sternly  bade  her  choose  between  the  two, — 
Remain  with  them  to  whom  her  love  was  due. 
Or  go  with  him  and  their  displeasure  jirove, 
Which  she  in  vara  should  labor  to  remove, — 
With  trembling  lip,  but  eye  that  dropped  no  tear^ 
And  tone,  if  tremulous  and  low,  yet  clear, 
She  answered  as  she  sadly  turned  away  : 

"  My  choice  is  made !  your  wUl  I  must  obey : 
I  cannot  wed  unless  with  your  consent : 
But  when  the  happy  love,  and  sweet  content 
With  which  together  you  two,  hand  in  hand. 
And  hcai't  to  heart,  your  pilgrimage  began 
Along  the  way  which^led  you  to  the  land 
Of  wedded  happiness,  you  shall  recall. 
Then  for  one  troubled  moment  think  of  all 


52  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

To-night's  refusal  to  your  child  denies, 
And  ponder  well  if  you  in  this  are  wise." 

She  left  the  room ;  and  midnight  saw  her  still 
Crouched  on  the  floor,  the  casement's  low,  broad  sill 
Her  rounded  arm  supporting,  where  was  pressed 
The  tear-stained  cheek,  the  bahny  breeze  caressed. 
As  if  in  gentle  pity  for  the  paiu 
Which  pierced  the  tender  youthful  heart,  it  fain 
Would  soothe, — her  temples  throbbing  'neath  the  veil 
Of  silken  curls  that  swept  the  cheeks  so  pale, 
And  eyes — those  lovely  eyes,  wherein  had  crept 
A  sadness  chasing  out  their  smiles — all  wet 
And  flushed  with  bitter  tears  which  they  had  wept. 
Much  grievous  sorrow  she'd  that  night  passed  through ; 
The  fiercest  struggle  now  was  o'er,  she  knew. 

The  morning  brought  commencement  day — the  eve 
Her  disappointed  lover,  to  receive 
His  last  farewell.     We  will  not  linger  o'er 
The  bitter  parting  L     Let  us  close  the  door 
Upon  the  scene,  shut  in  the  sad,  sad  twain, 
Parting  they  felt  to  never  meet  agajn. 
Shut  in  the  teai's,  and  sobs,  and  kisses  wild, 
The  clinging  arms,  fond  words,  and  mournful  smiles, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  53 

The  silent  sorro-w  of  the  last  sad  hour,— 

And  stand  with  Pansy  'neath  the  drooping  flowers 

Of  vine-clad  portico,  as  on  her  ear 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  fall,  with  drear. 

Sad  mournfuluess,  and  whispers  that  the  tale 

Of  love  is  ended.     'Gainst  the  trellis  frail 

She  leans  for  long  in  bitter  reverie ; 

And  as  she  turns  at  last,  and  heavily     , 

Her  soft  hand  raises  to  her  aching  brow, 

The  light  which  over  her  is  streaming  now 

From  open  parlor  door,  with  sudden  gleam 

Reveals  that  on  her  finger  still,  the  ring 

Of  their  betrothal  glitters. 

When  she  drew 
The  pretty  circlet  off,  and  dropped  into 
Her  lover's  hand  the  emblem  of  their  troth 
So  quickly  broken,  he  in  troubled  thought 
Toyed  for  a  moment  with  the  costly  pledge 
Which  he  one  eve  by  pebbled  river-edge. 
So  joyfully  had  giv'n  the  happy  girl — 
With  violet  eyes  and  cheeks  of  roseate  pearl. 
Whereon  the  pretty  flush  of  new-born  love 
No  longer  burned — and  then  he  bent  above 


54:  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  little  hand  he  held  in  tender  clasp, 

Slipped  back  the  ring  where  it  had  glittered  last, 

And  said  :  "  ISTo,  Pansy  darling,  keep  the  ring, 

And  let  it  often  fond  remembrance  bring 

Of  him  who  loved  you  well,     I  would  not,  dear. 

You  should  forget  the  one  who  holds  you  here 

To-night,  with  such  mad  longing.     While  its  gleam 

Awakes  one  thought  of  this  our  happy  dream, 

So  brief,  and  though  so  sad,  so  passing  sweet. 

You'll  not  for-get  the  friend  who  hopes  to  keep 

A  warm  and  tender  spot  in  your  dear  heart, 

Though  'tis  to  meet  no  more  this  eve  we  part. 

And  so,  my  precious  Heart's-ease,  keep  the  ring, 

'Till  on  this  little  snowy  hand  shall  gleam 

The  gage  of  one  your  parents  shall  approve. 

When  that  time  comes,  then  send  it  back,  my  Love !  " 


And  so  the  happy  dream  in  fragments  lay ! 
The  veil  of  youth  was  rudely  torn  away. 
And  Pansy  Grey  her  fii*st  sad  lesson  learned 
Prom  woman's  book  of  fate.     The  first  leaf  turned 
Was  written  o'er  with  disappointment  sharp : 
Would  every  page  reveal  a  bitter  smart  ? 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  55 

Some  women  find  no  others  !  was  she  one 
Whom  tales  of  hope  fulfilled  her  eyes  would  shun  ? 
Or  was  it  true  a  "  broken  dream  "  alone, 
Not  broken  heart,  it  was  she  had  to  mourn ! 


BEOKEN    DREAMS. 


BOOK    THIED. 


"Bnt  time  wore  on !  'ronnd  absence  crept 
The  weed  of  custom,  and  the  absent  one 
Became  at  last  a  mem'ry  and  no  more." 

Owen  Meredith. 


'  Flown  on  the  wings  of  rapture  !    Is  this  death  ?  " 

J.  G.  HOLLAITO. 


8* 


Broken  Dreams. 


aak    Cbirb. 


And  "  time  wore  on  !  "     Days  swiftly  came  and  went, 
With  Summer's  wealth  of  verdure,  soon  was  blent 
The  royal  tints  of  Autumn !     Brilliant  leaves. 
Beneath  whose  radiant  flush  of  beauty  leaps 
The  swiftly  ebbing  pulse  of  death,  in  heaps 
Of  crimson,  purple,  amber,  brown  and  gold. 
Were  piled  upon  the  stiff'ning  ground,  grown  cold 
Beneath  the  kisses  of  the  dying  year. 
Then  Winter  came  !  old,  hoary,  dropping  tears 
Of  sorrow  o'er  the  year's  departed  bloom — 
Its  youth  so  full  of  promise,  merging  soon 


60  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

In  early  manliood  passionate  and  rash, 

With  life  and  beauty  glowing — passing  fast 

To  riper  middle  age — that  also  gone  ! 

Spring's  bud,  and  summer's  blossom,  blush  and  song. 

And  Autumn's  fruit  all  gathered — nothing  left 

But  leafless  trees,  and  grass  all  brown  and  dead : 

No  flower,  no  fruit,  no  bird,  no  balmy  air, 

But  frost  and  cold,  decay,  death  everywhere  ! 

So  Winter,  weeping  tears  which  ere  they  fell 
Were  changed  to  drops  of  ice,  o'er  hill  and  dell 
All  brown  and  sere,  o'er  leafless  shrub  and  tree, 
O'er  far-off  mountain-top  and  lonely  lea^ 
With  loving,  pitying  hand  a  mantle  spread — 
A  snowy  shroud  to  hide  his  mournful  dead  ! 
But  Winter  also  died !     Then  Spring,"  his  heir. 
Came  robed  in  garments  bright,  and  fresh  and  fair, 
With  lovely  flowers  crowned,  by  mirth  and  song 
Attended,  as  he  gayly  tripped  along. 
And  now  proud  Summer  once  again  was  here  ! 

.     To  Pansy's  lovely  face  an  added  year 
Had  giv'n  an  added  beauty.     To  the  lips, 
That  trembled  'neath  her  first-love's  parting  kiss 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  61 

A  twelvemonth,  since,  a  sweeter  curve  was  giv'n  ; 

Yet  in  repose  betrayed  how  she  had  striven 

And  conquered  pain.     Not  quite  so  pink  the  clieeks, 

Yet  softer,  fairer  still.     And  eyes — so  deep 

And  lovely  ever,  eyes  so  full  of  smiles 

A  year  ago,  and  smiling  on,  the  while 

In  secret  many  bitter  tears  they  wept, 

Now  hid  within  their  tender,  lustrous  depths, 

Where  violet  shadows  Ivirked,  a  sweeter  light, 

A  softer  radiance  as  pure  as  bright : 

A  look  that  said  the  soul  that  lay  beyond 

Had  grown  more  loving  stiU,  more  strong  and  fond  : 

That  life  for  her  a  deeper  meaning  held. 

More  earnest  had  become  :  that  told  how  well 

And  bravely  were  the  last  year's  burdens  borne. 

And  yet,  when  all  is  said,  I  can  but  own 

I've  failed  in  showing  what  the  subtle  grace 

The  added  year  had  given :  the  lovely  face 

A  nameless  charm  possessed,  and  which  my  pen 

Is  pow'rless  to  describe  :  I  leave  it  then 

To  you,  my  reader,  to  compare  with  one 

As  fair  and  sweet  which  you  perchance  have  known. 

The  wise  man  tells  us  that  the  human  heart's 
Above  all  things  deceitful !     Thus  imparts 


62  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

A  truth  we  all  must  sanction.     Wlio  but  finds 

The  statement  verified  from  time  to  time, 

If  he  beneath  the  surface  looks :  and  who 

But  must  acknowledge  what  he  thought  to  do 

Was  left  undone,  and  many  an  act  performed, 

Which  he  in  contemplation  would  have  scorned. 

Few  their  own  capabilities  can  know. 

Till  trials  stern,  and  strong  temptations,  show 

Their  nature's  depth  and  strength ;  some  shallow  prove, 

Some  grand  and  firm — all  purity  and  love. 

We  look  into  our  hearts,  and  deem  we  read 
Each  page  that's  written  there.     Look  long  and  deep, 
Discuss  its  motives,  passions,  feelings,  thoughts. 
Its  likes  and  detestations,  faults,  and  aught 
Beside  we  can  discover  there,  and  deem 
We  fully  know  ourselves :  but  like  a  dream 
That's  full  of  inconsistency  and  change. 
We  find  ere  long — and  think  it  passing  strange — 
We've  been  deceived  most  sadly !  and  by  what  ? 
By  nothing  less  than  our  own  fickle  hearts ! 

For  instance  :  we  perchance  may  have  a  friend  ! 
We  own  we  like,  esteem  him  much ;  but  then 


BUOKEN  DBEAM8.  63 

'Tis  only  friendship  of  the  purest  kind 

We  feel  for  him ;  and  yet,  surprised,  we  find 

At  length,  our  friendship's  ripened  into  love. 

Unconsciously,  it  may  be,  we  above 

All  others  in  our  hearts  have  him  enthroned, 

To  reign  forever  there,  supreme,  alone. 

Again,  we  may  perhaps  have  loved  for  long, 

And  with  affection  passionate  and  strong. 

We'd  treat  with  indignation  any  talk 

Of  possible  estrangement,  any  thought 

That  coolness,  absence,  silence,  time,  or  aught 

Beside,  could  ever  any  change  effect — 

Less  potent  render  love  like  ours  :  and  yet. 

When  tested,  have  we  not  sometimes  to  own 

We  were  deceived  ?     The  bird  of  love  had  flown 

On  wings  of  change  and  absence  from  our  hearts  ? 

That  what  we  deemed  was  of  our  souls  a  part, 

A  passion  strong  as  Ufe,  was,  after  all, 

A  fleeting,  fond  emotion  ? — love  miscalled  ! 

Yet,  notwithstandiag  this,  I  do  believe 
In  life's  grand  passion  !     Love  that  never  leaves 
The  heart  it  enters,  never  suffers  change. 
And  that  no  power  on  earth  can  e'er  estrange. 


64:  BROKEK  DREAMS. 

But  this  is  rare  ;  few  natures  are  so  deep 
As  to  contain  a  passion  strong  and  sweet, 
As  lasting,  potent,  tender,  .and  complete 
As  that ! 

But  life  one  strong  emotion  has, 
That's  neither  love  nor  friendship  !     For  the  last 
'Tis  somewhat  too  exacting,  jealous,  rash. 
And  passionate  as  well ;  and  it  is  quite  * 

Too  selfish,  shallow,  vacillating,  light. 
And  impotent  to  be  the  first.     No  name 
For  this  emotion  doth  our  speech  contain. 
We  call  it  "  love  !  "  but  those  who  both  have  known, 
That  it  is  thus  misnamed,  must  surely  own. 
'Tis  Kke  a  portrait  of  a  lovely  face ! 
It's  sweet,  and  pretty,  full  of  tender  grace. 
And  yet  is  but  a  semblance  of  the  warm 
And  pulsing  life  within  the  perfect  form. 
'Tis  like  an  apple-blossom !  fair  and  sweet. 
Yet  soon  its  snow  lies  crushed  beneath  our  feet; 
And  lovely  as  it  may  be,  'tis  in  truth 
A  promise  merely  of  the  coming  fruit. 
'Tis  like  a  dream,  bewilderingly  sweet. 
Of  one  we  love,  and  long,  perchance,  to  meet ! 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  65 

The  dream  is  blissful !  what,  though,  when  compared 

To  glad  reality,  when  both  should  share 

The  joy  of  meeting  ?     Lovely  as  it  seems. 

We  wake,  ere  long,  to  find  'tis  but  a  dream.        ^ 

And  thus  with  Pansy  Grey  !     She  deemed  her  love 
As  changeless  as  the  stars  that  shine  above ; 
As  fathomless  as  depths  of  throbbing  sea ; 
As  strong  as  love  of  life ;  as  vast,  and  free, 
As  heav'n's  expanse,  and  balmy,,  pulsing  air  : 
And  after  all,  'twas  but  the  semblance  fair 
Of  love's  reality  !     She  grieved,  'tis  true. 
And  pain  severe  and  real  she  suffered,  too. 
At  life's  first  disappoiutment.     Yet  'twas  o'er 
Her  broken  di-eam,  and  shattered  hope,  far  more 
Than  sacrifice  of  love. 

She  could  not  gaze 
On  life  with  eyes  the  same  as  in  the  days 
Before  her  feet  had  entered  love's  sweet  maze, 
Before  her  mouth  had  felt  the  thrilling  press 
Of  manly  lips  in  love's  divine  caress. 
Before  she  learned  to  suffer  and  be  strongs 
Poor  woman's  bitter  task — "  but  time  wore  on," 
Pain  grew  less  sharp,  affection  slowly  dimmed. 
And  though  a  tint  of  sadness  lurked  within 


66  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Tlie  lovely  eyes  at  times,  and  though,  his  ring 
Still  sparkled  on  her  hand,  and  thoughts  of  him 
Who  fondly  placed  it  there  did  oft  recall — 
Kind,  pleasant,  loving  recollections  all — 
Smiles  nestled  in  her  buoyant  heart  again, 
And  she  had  won  the  vict'ry  over  pain. 
Her  absent  friend  was  fondly  thought  of  yet, 
But  not  with  love's  impassioned,  sharp  regret. 


Time  still  wore  on  !     October's  mellow  days 
Brought  sorrow  once  again  to  Pansy  Grey's 
True,  tender  heart.     Her  father,  stricken  down 
By  fell  disease,  was  hov'ring  o'er  the  bounds 
Of  vast  Eternity.     How  full  of  grief 
Those  weary  days  !     Tears  bringing  no  relief 
To  her  o'er- burdened  heart.     She  watched  and  wept 
Beside  the  suff'rer's  couch,  then  sadly  crept 
To  where  her  mother  dear  lay  moaning  too, 
And  fretting  'neath  her  impotence  to  do 
For  him  she  loved. 

Disease  had  lightly  laid 
His  heavy  hand  upon  the  loved  one,  played 
At  first  upon  a  single  chord  alone  : 
The  "  harp  of  thousand  strings  "  gave  bitter  moan. 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  67 

And  quickly  snapped  the  chord  beneath  his  touch. 

He  tried  another !     Lightly  though  he  struck, 

That  also  broke.     His  hand  still  others  swept ! 

He  touched  them  gently,  tenderly,  and  yet 

They  snapped  asunder  too.     The  strings  were  worn. 

Or  else  too  tightly  tensioned.     Sadly  shorn 

Of  beauty,  music,  grace,  the  broken  harp 

Lay  useless  !     It  had  bravely  done  its  part 

To  cheer  and  soothe  the  weary,"  saddened  hearts 

That  came  to  it  for  music — softly  played 

Its  airs  of  joy  or  grief,  and  now  it  lay 

All  broken,  worthless,  waiting  for  the  Hand — 

The  tender,  loving  Hand,  at  whose  command 

Its  sweetest  melody  was  ever  given — 

To  gather  up  the  broken  strings,  the  riven, 

Shattered  frame,  and  from  the  fragments  make 

A  finer,  richer  instrument,  to  take 

Its  place  within  the  heavenly  choirs  above. 

To  vibrate  evermore  with  airs  of  love 

And  praise  to  Him  whose  gracious  mercy  wrought 

From  such  a  wreck  a  harp  the  Master  thought 

Deserving  place  in  His  divine  abode. 

Poor  Pansy  watched  with  eyes  all  overflowed 


68  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

With  blinding  tears,  and  heavy,  aching  heart, 
The  tensioned  strings  snap  one  by  one  apart ; 
Watched  with  untiring  patience,  tender  zeal, 
O'er  both  her  suiFerers.     Saw  slowly  steal 
Across  their  threshold  one  whose  shadow  dark 
Sent  dread  and  terror  to  her  loving  heart. 
And  still  the  shadow  near,  and  nearer  stole. 
And  dark  and  darker  grew,  and  sadly  told 
'Twas  but  the  herald  of  approaching  doom ; 
But  the  precursor  of  a  guest,  which  soon 
Would  bend  above  that  wasting,  failing  form. 
And  freeze  with  icy  kiss  the  lips  yet  warm 
With  pulsing  life,  though  crimsoned  with  the  flush 
Of  rosy  fever,  whose  deceitful  blush 
riamed  hot  upon  the  hollow  cheeks  as  well — 
The  borrowed  hue  of  blooming,  robust  health. 

Would  I  could  find  some  words  in  which  to  tell 
How  nobly  was  the  hidden  pow'r  and  wealth 
Of  Pansy's  heart,  by  sorrow's  discipline 
Developed  !     How  sublime  the  strength  within 
The  nature  of  that  fair  young  lovely  girl. 
One  almost  felt  an  angel's  wings  were  furled 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  69 

Beneath  the  dainty  robes  that  clothed  that  form 
So  slight  and  gii-lish,  as  she  tasks  performed 
Which  weaker  natures  must  have  sunk  beneath. 
The  nightly  watchers  many  blessings  breathed 
On  that  fair  child,  who,  with  such  tender  care, 
Not  only  watched  the  suff'rer  lying  there, 
And  all  her  mother's  wants  supplied,  but  spared 
No  efforts  for  the  comfoi*t  of  the  friends 
Who  eased  her  nightly  vigils.     To  the  end 
A  ministering  angel  bent  above 
That  couch  of  pain,  and  with  untiring  love. 
The  numberless  requirements  of  the  hour 
Fulfilled  with  steady  hand. 

The  wondrous  power 
Of  woman's  stern  endurance,  who  can  show  ? 
It  seems  unlimited.     No  one  can  know 
Her  nature's  vast  resources  'till  the  time 
Of  trial  comes,  and  then  how  grand,  sublime, 
The  strength  with  which  she  meets  the  pending  doom  ! 

Death  nigher  drew  !  and  in  the  night's  black  noon 
Bent  low  above  the  couch  where  Pansy  knelt  j 
His  presence  chiU  the  silent  suff'rer  felt. 


70  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  as  He  lower  bent,  and  whispered  "  come !  " 
A  smile  seraphic  wreathed  the  Hps  now  dumb, 
And  in  a  sigh  ecstatic  ebbed  the  breath. 
"  Flown  on  the  wings  of  rapture  I  Is  this  death  ?  " 


BROKEN    DEEAMS. 


BOOK    FOURTH. 


"  Father  of  Love, 
An  erring  child  yearns  to  be  blest : 
Within  Thy  house  to  be  at  rest, 
No  more  to  rove  !  " 


'  And  some  we  trusted  with  a  fond  believing, 
Have  turned  and  stung  us  to  the  bosom's  core ; 
And  hie  hath  seemed  but  as  a  vain  deceiving, 
From  which  we  turn  aside,  heart  sick  and  sore." 

MKS.   CnAiJDLKB. 


Broken  Dreams. 


jook    Jf 0wrt^. 


The  midnight  of  the  year  again  had  come  ! 
Tired  Nature  doffed  her  garments  one  by  one,       *• 
And  went  to  rest !  to  slumber  'till  the  sun 
Of  Spring's  sweet  morning  should  again  awake 
The  weary  sleeper,  who  had  been  arrayed 
In  snowy  night-robe  by  the  loving  hand 
Of  careful  Winter,  while  at  his  command 
The  Monds  of  Autumn  lullaby  had  sung, 
'Till  over  wearied  Nature  had  been  flung 
The  night's  white  garments,  and  sweet  Sleep  had  come, 
Silenced  her  rills  of  laughter,  rendered  dvimb 
Her  voice,  which  ia  such  happy  songs  had  rung 
4 


74  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

All  through  the  year's  glad  noon,  anil  hushed  to  calm 
The  lullaby  of  Autumn's  evening  psalm. 

So  Winter  comes  !  and  hark !  his  frosty  air 
Is  burdened  with  the  aroma  of  prayer  ! 
His  pure  white  robe,  fresh  from  Earth's  Monarch's  hand, 
Seemed  bringing  in  its  folds  a  breath  of  bland 
And  subtle  perfume  from  the  Great  White  Throne, 
Around  which  clouds  of  incense  sweet  are  thrown 
From  golden  censers  rare.     It  seemed  as  though 
The  loving  Christ  had  kissed  the  snowy  robe, 
And  left  thereon  the  fragrance  of  His  breath  ! 
For  when  it  came,  so  close  on  Autumn's  death, 
A  shower  of  love  divine  from  Jesus'  heart 
Attended  it,  to  joy  and  peace  impart 
To  weary,  siu-tossed  souls.     Who  would  be  blest. 
Stood  'neath  the  fragrant  show'r,  and  found  sweet  rest, 
As  on  his  sinful  soul  the  crimson  rain 
From  Christ's  cleft  heart,  so  freely,  sweetly  came, 
And  washed  the  guilty  one  from  sin's  dark  stain. 
Imparting  bakn  for  every  grief  and  pain. 

Heav'n's  shining  throngs  were  happy  in  those  days ; 
The  jewelled  courts  all  rang  with  song  and  praise. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  75 

As  watching  angels  joyfully  proclaimed 
Another  soul  redeemed  from  Satan's  reign ; 
Another  rebel  reconciled  to  God, 
Whose  feet  had  left  destruction's  paths  so  broad ; 
Another  heart  I'estored  to  Him  who  gscvQ 
His  precioixs  life  to  save  us  from  the  grave 
Of  dark  despair,  and  everlasting  night, 
And  fit  us  for  a  home  of  love  and  light. 
And  on  the  air  which  bore  the  blessing  down. 
Came  floating  back  the  welcome,  joyful  sound 
Of  prayer  and  praise  to  Him  whose  gracious  love 
Had  sent  such  wondrous  mercy  from  above. 

A  fair  young  girl  stretched  out  an  eager  hand 
To  catch  the  falling  drops,  the  thirsty  land 
So  quickly  swallowed.     Should  the  grateful  shower 
Of  Love  divine  not  touch  her  in  an  hour, 
When  to  the  sweet  and  purifying  power 
The  precious  drops  contained,  so  many  hearts 
Were  yielding  ?     Should  the  ruby  draught  impart 
To  her  alone  no  happiness  and  joy  ? 
And  should  she  any  means  leave  unemployed 
To  catch  the  falling  blessing?     Innocent 
And  pure  she  was,  in  action,  thought,  intent. 


76  BROKEN  BREAMS. 

As  erring  liuuian  nature  well  can  be, 
And  yet  slie  sought  for  deeper  purity : 
Readied  out  her  hand  and  bent  her  lovely  head, 
That  on  her  Christ's  compassion  might  be  shed. 
And  humbly  prayed,  "  Forgive  and  bless  e'en  me, 
Dear  Lord,  my  God  !  "     Her  Saviour  heard  her  plea, 
Bent  down  and  took  her  in  His  tender  arms, 
Soothed  gently  the  repentant  heart's  alarms. 
Whispered  of  hope  and  love,  bade  fears  to  cease, 
And  pressed  the  trembling  lips  with  kiss  of  peace. 

How  sweet  her  life  thus  suddenly  had  grown  ! 
How  deep  the  peace  which  to  her  heart  had  flown  ! 
How  pure,  complete,  the  joy  that  nestled  there  ! 
This  earth  had  surely  grown  more  passing  fair 
Than  e'er  before,  since  on  the  winding  stair 
That  leads  to  Jesus'  mansions,  she  her  foot 
So  timidly  had  placed,  one  loving  look 
Of  sweet  forgiveness  from  those  eyes  divine. 
Thus  hoping  to  obtain — to  taste  the  wine 
Of  boundless  love  her  Saviour's  tender  hand 
Should  press  to  eager  lips.     How  full  and  grand 
Her  wishes'  sweet  fulfilment !  she'd  not  dreamed 
Of  half  the  bliss  which  that  one  loving  beam 


BROKEN  BREAMS.  Y7 

Of  full  forgiveness  would  on  lier  bestow; 

What  deep,  abiding  joy  and  peace  would  flow 

All  througb  the  draught  that  she  so  longed  to  qijaff. 

The  I'iver  rippled  by  with  merrier  laugh, 
The  golden  sunlight  shone  with  brighter  gleam, 
The  virgin  snow  more  pure  and  lovely  seemed. 
The  heav'ns  bent  down  with  clearer,  bluer  depths, 
And  e'en  the  clouds  which  sometimes  o'er  it  swept, 
Seemed  tinged  with  roseate  hues.     Her  old-time  friends 
Had  grown  more  loved  and  loving.     Wonder,  then, 
That  life  looked  very  bright,  how  can  we  ?     When 
Each  pleasure  was  enhanced,  and  every  grief 
Was  softened  by  the  sweet  and  full  relief 
Her  Saviour's  words  of  pardon  had  bestowed. 
When  with  His  love  her  tender  heart  o'erflowed. . 
What  could  she  henceforth  fear,  while  such  true  arms 
Were  shielding  her  from  all  Kfe's  I'lide  alarms  ? 
She  gave  all  issues  into  His  dear  hands. 
And  lovingly  obeyed  His  wise  commands. 


The  speeding  months  which  in  her  heart  and  life 
Had  wrought  siich  changes,  were  with  others  rife. 


78  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

It  would  not  be  siipposed  tliat  one  so  fair, 

So  worthy  homage,  with  a  nature  rare 

And  strong  and  sweet  as  hers,  wonkl  long  remain 

Unsought,  unwooed,  though  wooing  might  be  vain. 

The  place  left  vacant  by  her  absent  friend 

Ere  long  was  occupied.     Vacation's  end 

Brought  the  return  of  one  who  long  had  gazed 

With  wishful  eyes  on  Pansy's  lovely  face. 

And  hailed  with  joy  proud  Sumner's  late  defeat. 

However  Pansy  grieved,  her  laugh  rang  sweet 

And  clear  as  ever,  when  with  others  met 

In  social  gathering.     No  sharp  regret 

Betrayed  itself  in  ringing  voice,  nor  yet 

In  laughing  eye,  or  rounded,  rosy  cheek. 

And  if  of  him  some  voice  had  chanced  to  speak 

AVith  careless  words,  no  blush,  nor  tone,  nor  look. 

Betrayed  the  tremor  that  her  heartstrings  shook. 

Por  very  proud  was  she,  this  little  girl. 

And  shrank  from  showing  to  the  curious  world 

Her  heart's  emotions. 

Let  me  introduce 
Her  present  suitor,  Mr.  Henry  Bruce  ! 
A  dark-haired,  dark-eyed,  stylish,  proud  young  man, 
And  yet  unscrupulous  in  act  or  plan — 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  79 

From  Gotham's  tangled  maze.     His  winning  smile, 

And  polished  manner,  tended  to  beguile 

All  hearts  from  thoughts  distrustful ;  and  was  yet 

Too  young  to  render  very  marked  the  depth 

Of.  cool  deceit  and  vanity  that  slept 

Beneath  that  fine  exterior.     Those  were, 

Perhajjs,  the  worst  points  in  his  character, 

And  circumstances  yet  had  shown  to  few 

How  quite  unworthy  was  this  you.th  of  true 

And  warm  regard  and  confidence. 

He  found 
It  difficult  for  him  to  pass  the  bounds 
Of  Pansy's  maidenly  reserve.     Though  gay 
And  cordial  ever,  she  had  yet  a  way 
Of  keeping  him  at  distance,  and  in  vain 
He  sought  the  slightest  favor  to  obtain. 
To  other  friends  denied,     'Tis  true,  she  marked 
His  efibrts  place  to  win  witliin  her  heart, 
Nor  saw  it  with  displeasure ;  yet  impelled 
To  hide  her  sanction  of  his  suit,  she  felt, 
Though  reason  for  it  she  would  found  it  quite 
Impossible  to  give.     And  so  with  light 
And  playful  words  she  all  advances  met. 
And  he  was  forced  to  own,  in  no  respect 


80  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Did  lie  in  her  regard  advance  a  step, 
As  far  as  lie  could  see. 

Briglit,  leafy  June, 
Blushing  and  fragrant  witli  its  wealth  of  bloom, 
Had  brought  her  twentieth  birthday !     Brought  beside, 
A  new,  yet  unknown  friend,  who  on  a  tide 
Of  anxious  fear  had  floated  to  her  heart, 
Encouragement  and  comfort  to  impart. 

Her  brother  Temple,  some  months  since,  had  gone 
To  visit  Western  friends.     Weeks  passed  along, 
And  having  with  some  lads  acquaintance  made. 
Attending  school  where  he  his  visit  paid. 
He  fancied  he  should  like  it  to  remain 
And  enter  on  the  school-roll  there  his  name. 
And  though  his  sister,  and  his  mother  both, 
To  have  him  absent  for  so  long,  were  loath, 
The  wilful  boy  as  usual  won  the  day. 
And  they  at  last  consented  to  his  stay. 
For  scarce  a  month  an  inmate  he  had  been 
Of  "  Ross  Academy,"  and  yet  within 
So  brief  a  space,  his  young  and  active  limbs 
Were  helpless  stretched  upon  a  couch  of  pain, 
And  fever  flushed  his  cheek,  confused  his  brain, 
And  sapped  his  youthful  strength. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  81 

Day  after  day 
He  called  for  Pansy,  begging  her  to  lay 
Her  soft,  cool  hand  npon  his  aching  brow, 
To  kiss  the  lips  so  hot  and  fevered  now, 
And  sing  her  weary  boy  to  sleep  once  more. 
With  kind  and  gentle  hand,  a  man  bent  o'er 
The  tossing  boy,  with  patient,  watchful  care, 
He  soothed  the  moaning  suff'rer  prostrate  there. 
Paul  Hart,  a  junior  teacher  in  the  school, 
The  lads  controlling  with  a  gentle  rule, 
An  influence  exerted  over  them, 
As  rare  as  strong.     Indeed,  not  many  men 
Are  better  fitted  for  their  place  than  he, 
And  one  with  finer  qualities  we  see 
But  rarely.     Yet,  like  every  other  man. 
He  had  his  faults ;  but  as  they  did  stand 
"With  prominence  among  his  finer  traits, 
He  often  credit  won  for  higher  rate 
Of  merit  than  his  character  possessed. 
Tall,  dark  and  handsome,  pleasing  in  address, 
Obliging,  able,  educated,  kind. 
His  own  sex  placed  him  high  'mong  men  of  mind, 
The  other — well,  they  spoiled  him  some,  I  fear, 
Flushed  with  delight  whenever  he  came  near. 


82  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

Courted  and  flattered  him  as  women  will, 
And  lie  received  their  homage  sweet,  until 
He  ranked  his  power  of  pleasing  quite  too  high. 
And  much  of  fascination  lost  thereby ; 
At  least  with  any  who  by  chance  descried 
His  self-conceit  and  vanity  and  pride. 

Young  Temple's  heart  he  instantly  had  won ; 
The  man  and  boy  fast  friends  had  soon  become; 
And  when  the  lad  lay  tossing  in  the  grasp 
Of  fiery  fever,  while  his  strength  ebbed  fast. 
Each  day  more  painful  growing  than  the  last. 
He  begged  his  teacher,— who,  with  tender  care 
And  gentle  touch,  did  ne'er  an  effort  spare 

To  ease  and  soothe  the  restless,  fretful  boy 

To  write  to  Pansy,  leaving  unemployed 

No  argument  that  should  by  chance  avail 

To  bring  his  sister  thither,  or  prevail 

Upon  his  invalid  mamma,  consent 

To  give  to  Pansy's  coming.     Therefore  went 

A  letter  East,  the  tidings  to  convey. 

Of  Temple's  illness. 

Paul  forebore  to  say 
How  much  the  boy  her  presence  had  besought. 
From  feeling  that  indeed  he  scarcely  ought 


BROKEN  BBEAM8.  83 

To  urge  laer  coming  tliitlier,  while  at  home 
Her  presence  was  required.     So  while  he  owned 
That  Temple  was  quite  ill,  assured  her,  too, 
He  was  not  dangerous,  and  he  should  do 
With  pleasvire  everything  that  could  conduce 
Unto  his  comfort,  or  would  be  of  use 
In  his  recovery  promoting. 

"  Thus," 
To  this  he  added,  "you  will  not,  I  trust. 
Consider  it  imperative  to  come. 
If  aught  demands  your  presence  at  your  home." 

So  pleasingly  he  wrote,  expressing,  too. 
So  much  of  sympathy  and  kindness  true. 
Assuring  them  that  he  would  write  each  day 
While  Temple  ill  remained,  that  Mrs.  Grey's 
Warm,  mother  heart  was  won  without  delay, 
And  Pansy  was  desired  to  write  and  say 
How  deeply  grateful  were  they  for  his  kind 
Attention  to  their  absent  boy.     As  time 
Passed  slowly  on,  and  Temple  Grey  remained 
Still  prostrate  on  his  couch  of  fevered  pain, 
And  every  day  its  kindly  message  brought, 
To  ease  the  anxious  fears  with  which  was  fraught 


84  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Eacli  troixbled  morn,  ih^ej  came  to  think  of  him 

As  one  who  evermore  must  hold  within 

Their  hearts  a  warm  and  lofty  place.     So  when 

The  boy  his  usxial  health  and  strength  again 

Recovered,  and  the  daily  letters  ceased, 

They   missed   them   much.     And   therefore   'twas   with 

pleased 
Surprise  that  Mrs.  Grey  perused  one  eve 
A  note  that  Pansy  handed  her,  received 
In  one  to  her  from  Temple,  wherein  he 
Had  urged  in  his  imperious  way  that  she 
Would  grant  his  friend's  req\iest  contained  within 
The  note  in  his  inclosed. 

Paul  wrote  he'd  been 
So  pleased  with  Pansy's  letters  to  the  lad, 
Which,  having  been  obliged  to  read,  he  had, 
Far  more  than  he  could  say,  their  coming  missed, 
And  begged  that  she  would  grant  his  earnest  wish — 
Of  course  providing  Pansy  gave  consent — 
And  though  a  stranger  think  him  still  a  friend. 
And  give  him  kind  permission  to  address 
Miss  Grey  in  correspondence.     For  the  rest, 
He  offered  ref 'rence  of  the  highest  kind. 
Did  she  require,  to  satisfy  her  mind 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  85 

As  to  his  standing,  honor,  character; 
A.nd  hoped  his  love  for  one  so  dear  to  her 
4  s  was  her  boy,  would  better  plead  his  cause 
Than  aught  beside,  regardless  of  the  laws 
Of  strictest  etiquette,  which  might  forbid 
Such  correspondence. 

On  the  whole,  he  did 
With  so  much  manliness  and  frankness  write, 
That  Mrs.  Grey,  though  in  such  matters  quite 
As  scrupulous  as  mothers  often  are, 
Yet  grateful  for  his  kind  and  watchful  care 
Beside  the  couch  of  her  dear  absent  son. 
Felt  she  could  not  deny  this  boon  to  one 
Who'd  surely  proved  himself  a  friend  in  need ; 
And  though  Miss  Pansy  long  demurred,  indeed, 
At  last  a  favorable  reply  was  sent, 
And  correspondence  speedily  commenced. 

Who  does  not  know  the  shortest  road  to  find 
A  mother's  heart,  is  through  attention  kind, 
And  fondness  for  the  child  she  loves.     A  claim 
Paul  now  possessed  he  could  not  urge  in  vain. 
Therefore  the  ease  with  which  his  point  was  gained. 


86  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Fine  letters  did  lie  write,  and  I  must  own 
That  his  was  not  the  benefit  alone, 
Or  pleasure  in  the  correspondence  thus 
Begun.     She  taught  him  hope,  and  faith,  and  trust ; 
Set  up  for  him — unconsciously  although — 
Of  womanhood  a  higher  standard ;  showed 
Her  nature's  fairest,  sweetest  side  to  him, 
Until  her  image  he  enshrined  within 
His  mind  as  noblest  of  her  sex.     He,  too, 
Taught  her  new  admiration  for  a  true 
And  elevated  manhood.     Both,  indeed. 
For  each  too  high  a  standard  raised ;  and  lead 
To  disappointment,  that  perforce  must  do. 
The  romance  threw  a  strong  enchantment,  too, 
Around  this  letter-intercourse.     Though  both 
To  own  how  deep  the  charm  laj  would  been  loath, 
The  bounds  of  friendship  still  were  not  o'erstepped, 
And  Mrs.  Grey  each  letter  did  inspect. 
Books,  music,  art,  the  topics  of  the  day, 
Were  all  discussed,  thus  bringing  into  play 
Their  knowledge,  powers  of  reas'ning,  feeling,  thought. 
While  each  some  new  and  fine  ideas  brought 
T'  enrich  the  other's  store. 


BROKEN  DBEAMa.  87 

Tlnis  matters  stood, 
Wlien  over  Lill  and  vale,  and  mead  and  wood, 
The  misty  splendor  of  the  Summer's  noon 
Again  was  brooding ! 

August's  golden  moon 
Smiled  brightly  on  the  little  hill-girt  town, 
When  from  his  school-home  Henry  Bruce  came  down 
The  night  before  commencement  day,  to  pay 
A  parting  visit  to  Miss  Pansy  Grey, 
Just  as  another,  nobler  one  had  come. 
But  two  years  since,  to  this  sweet  village  home. 
To-night  it  was  the  wily  youth's  intent 
To  ascertain,  if  might  be,  the  extent 
And  warmth  of  Pansy's  tenderness  for  him  ; 
In  what  bright  colors  had  his  face  been  limned 
Within  the  pretty  maiden's  guileless  heart. 
And  this  he  hoped  to  do,  while  on  his  part 
He  carefully  abstained  from  saying  aught 
That  should  himself  commit.     He  vainly  thought 
That  she  could  not  resist  the  tender  art 
He  meant  to  use :  but  she  was  on  her  guard. 
And  he  that  night  her  presence  left,  as  wise 
As  when  beneath  his  gaze  her  purple  eyes 


88  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Had  drooped  as  lie  inclosed  her  offered  hand 
That  eve  in  greeting.     Thus  the  heartless  man 
Was  foiled,  and  by  a-  simple  country  girl, 
Whose  heart  he  meant  to  play  with,  ere  the  world 
Of  folly,  fashion,  flirting,  pride,  deceit. 
He  entered. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  peep 
Within  the  floating  curtains  of  the  room, 
Aflood  with  radiance  of  the  rising  moon. 
Fragrant  with  balmy  breath  of  summer  flowers, 
Where  sit  the  twain.     Sweet  as  the  lovely  hour 
The  lovely  girl  doth  seem,  clad,  like  the  night 
In  robes  of  darkness,  which  her  beauty  bright 
Do  but  enhance.     The  casement  open  wide. 
The  little  rocker,  closely  drawn  beside. 
Wherein  she  sits  in  careless,  graceful  ease, 
Her  dark  curls  floating  in  the  gentle  breeze 
Pregnant  with  od'rous  sweetness,  and  the  eyes, 
Within  whose  pvirple  depths  so  sweetly  hides 
The  dawning  smile  that  wreathes  the  lips  of  rose, 
And  on  the  sunny,  piquant  face  bestows 
An  archness  quite  enchanting — all  completes 
A  picture,  in  whose  every  outline  speaks 


BROKEN  BREAMS.  89 

A  purity  and  loveliness,  the  man 
WTio  lounges  on  a  sofa  near  at  hand, 
Impossible  doth  find  it  to  withstand. 
And  with  an  earnestness  quite  new  to  him, 
His  heart  is  pulsing,  while  there  lurks  within 
His  eyes  so  dark,  a  tenderness  more  deep 
And  pure,  than  often  through  his  being  leaps. 
And  trembles  through  his  utt'rance  when  he  speaks. 

"  Pansy,  come  sit  beside  me  !  "  he  exclaims. 
She  laughs  for  answer,  in  her  seat  remains. 

"  Come,  Pansy !  " 

"  No !  why  should  I  ?  "  she  replies, 
While  roguish  smiles  dance  in  the  lovely  eyes — 
"  I  like  my  place — this  chair  is  very  nice. 
And  distance  gives  an  added  charm  besides." 

"  Not  always  *  distance  doth  enchantment  lend,' " 
He  quickly  made  reply;  "  Come  hither,  then  !  " 
And  rising,  crossed  the  room,  and  took  her  hand. 
With  gentle  force,  and  playful,  fond  command. 
Compelled  the  girl  his  wishes  to  obey — 
She  laughingly  remonstrant  all  the  way — 


90  BROKEN  BBEAMS. 

And  on  tlie  sofa  gently  seated  lier, 
Then  playfully  forbidding  her  to  stir, 
Close  at  lier  side  sat  down. 

"Sit  off!"  she  says, 
"  I  have  not  room  ;  beside,  you'll  spoil  my  dress. 
I've  left  my  fan  upon  the  window-sill, 
'Tis  very  warm  back  hei-e  !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  sit  still, 
I'll  bring  your  fan,"  to  this  he  quick  replies. 
As  Pansy  makes  a  vain  attempt  to  rise. 
The  fan  is  brought,  and  Bruce  his  seat  resumes; 
Awhile  sits  at  the  farther  end,  but  soon 
Miss  Grey  again  complains  of  want  of  room. 

"  Pansy,  I  here  remain  one  day  alone. 
And  then  I'm  through  with  school,  am  going  home ; 
To  not  return  unless  you  bid  me  come : 
"Will  you  not  miss  me  ?  tell  me,  pretty  one  !  " 

"  Miss  you?  oh  no,  why  should  I !  "  she  returns, 
Although  with  deeper  flush  her  soft  cheek  burns. 

He  takes  her  hand,  toys  with  her  floating  hair, 
Her  pink  cheek  smooths,  plays  with  the  chain  she  wears, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  91 

Then  asks,  "  Are  joxi  like  other  women  fair, 
With  petting  pleased  ?  " 

She  laughs,  shakes  off  his  hand, 
"  Oh  that  dej)ends  !  "  replies.     "  You  understand 
It  makes  a  diff'i*ence  as  to  who's  the  man." 

"  Why,  Pansy  !   don't  you  love  me  ?  tell  me  true." 

Shy  droop  the  eyes  to  hide  the  tender  hue 
That  sparkles  in  the  depths  of  lustrous  blue, 
Yet  saucily  she  answers  still :  "  Love  you  f 
Oh  no  !  why  should  I  ?  " 

Henry  bit  his  lip 
In  sharp  vexation  that  this  girl  shoiild  sli^ 
Adroitly  thus  through  all  the  efforts  made 
To  read  her  soul.     To  find  that  she  betrayed 
Not  once,  her  love  for  him,  if  such  might  sleep 
AVithin  her  heart,  whose  ciu'rent  flushed  her  cheek 
With  such  a  warm,  bright  hue.     She  foiled  thus  far 
His  mean,  ungen'rous  purposes,  and  mar 
His  wily  plans  she  stilL  continued  to, 
With  laughing  rejoartee  the  evening  through. 

The  utmost  that  he  gained  was  this  :  when  late 
They  stood  beside  the  little  rustic  gate, 


92  BROKEN  BREAMS. 

And  he  his  leave  was  just  about  to  take, 

He  said  :  "  Well,  Pansy,  bid  me  now  good-by, 

But  first,  to  one  inquiry  give  reply  : 

If  I,  on  reaching  home,  to  you  shall  write, 

May  I  expect  an  answer  ?     Once,  to-night, 

Say  '  yes,'  my  dear,  and  let  me  go  away 

With  hopes  we  may,  at  some  not  distant  day, 

Meet  once  again.     Shall  it  be  '  yes  ?  '  oh  say  ! " 

A  moment  she  in  silence  stood,  bent  down 
Her  lovely  eyes  in  thought  upon  the  ground. 
Then  softly  said  :  "  Perhaps !  I  cannot  tell ; 
I'll  think  'till^hen  about  it.     Pare-thee-well ! 
And  if  it  be  forever,  ^t\\\  farewell.'''' 

She  gave  her  hand ;  he  took  it,  held  it  fast 
In  both  of  his  with  strong  and  tender  clasp. 
Stooped  down  and  printed  on  her  crimson  lips, 
With  eager  press,  a  warm,  impassioned  kiss. 
So- suddenly  that  she  was  not  aware 
Of  his  intent,  until  'twas  burning  there : 
And  then  without  a  word  he  turned  away, 
And  vatiished  from  her  sight  with  short  delay. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  93 

Weeks  passed  along,  but  still  no  lettei-  came ! 
And  Pansy  questioned  heart  and  brain  in  vain, 
The  reason  for  his  silence  to  explain. 
At  first  with  frequence  she  recalled  the  eve 
Last  spent  with  him,  refusing  to  believe 
But  in  his  truth  and  honor,  though  the  while, 
That  she  had  not  allowed  him  to  beguile 
From  her  that  night,  confession  of  regard, 
She  felt  most  grateful.     But  at  last  her  heart 
"Was  forced  to  own  that  she  had  been  deceived, 
As  time  still  swept  along,  and  she  received 
No  tidings,  and  in  calmer  mood  recalled 
The  fact  that  while  that  eve  employing  all 
His  powers,  from  her  acknowledgment  to  win 
Of  preference  or  strong  regard  for  him, 
He  yet  with  care  abstained  from  giviug  her 
A  like  assurance.     Such  thoughts  could  but  stir 
Her  heart  with  indignation  and  disgust. 
For  one  who  would  have  won  her  girlish  trust, 
But  to  betray  it  when  it  once  was  gained. 
And  thankful  did  she  feel  she'd  bean  restrained 
By  her  coquettish  mood,  from  giving  him 
The  paltry  triumph  he  had  hoped  to  win. 


94  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  yet,  with,  heart  all  sore,  and  sad,  and  pained. 
She  from  a  world  that  seemed  so  cold  and  vain, 
So  vile,  deceitful,  heartless,  turned  aside 
"With  loathing  and  disgust.     With  haughty  pride 
Repelled  for  long,  each  tender  fond  advance 
From  those  who  gladly  would  improved  a  chance 
To  show  her  that  the  world  e'en  yet  contained 
Some  nobleness  and  truth,  though  such  a  vain 
And  heartless  wretch  as  Bruce  it  still  might  hold. 
She  would  not  thus  be  taught ;  but  turned  with  cold 
Distrust  from  any  cast  in  manly  mould. 

How  glad  she  felt  that  he  could  not  be  there, 
To  note  with  trivimph  how  her  cheek  so  fair, 
Had  paled  beneath  the  bitter  lesson  taught 
By  one  who  had  in  every  manner  sought 
Her  love  to  win.     Glad  they  were  not  to  meet, 
Until  with  steady  eye  and  changeless  cheek, 
She  could  return  his  greeting.     Show  to  him, 
That  his  her  heart  had  never  truly  been. 

In  woman's  book  of  fate  for  her  was  turned 
One  more  sad  leaf.     Another  lesson  learned 
In  disappointment  and  the  world's  deceit, 
Which  left  upon  her  mind  an  impress  deep. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  95 

And  yet,  amid  it  all,  she  realized 

Her  heart  was  still  intact.     Saw,  with  sxirprise, 

Has  image  quickly  vanish  from  her  mind, 

Although  it  left  a  stinging  pain  behind. 

Ah !  pretty  child,  much  crushing  hearts  will  bear 

Before  they  yield  to  remed'less  desj)air. 

But  yet  each  blow  can  but  assist  to  crush 

Their  vital  and  elastic  force. 

And  th\is, 
With  tear-dimmed  eyes,  and  cheeks  that  bore  no  flush, 
She  saw  her  dream  lie  broken  in  the  dust. 
And  with  it  shattered  faith,  and  hope,  and  trust. 


BROKEN    DREAMS 


BOOK  FIFTH. 


"  Away,  away  I    The  dream  is  vain , 
Still  wear,  as  best  you  may,  the  chain 
Your  own  hands  forged  about  your  fate." 

Owen  Meredith. 


"Thus  one  by  one  our  idols  fall, 
Just  as  the  snow-flakes  in  the  river." 


Broken  Dreams. 


00 h   Jfifil^ 


Again  had  Aiitumn's  fruits  been  gathered  in, 
And  wintry  pleasures  all  enjoyed  had  been, 
Spring  too  had  passed,  with  her  unrivalled  bloom, 
And  given  place  to  rosy,  blushing  June, 
When  Pansy  stood  one  eve  beside  the  gate. 
In  the  dusk  beauty  of  the  twilight  late. 
Her  mourning  robes  had  been  exchanged  for  white. 
And  fresh  and  pure  gleamed  through  the  veil  of  night. 
Her  round,  white  arm,  from  which  the  lace-edged  sleeve 
Had  fallen  back,  by  golden  band  relieved. 
Was  resting  on  the  gate  in  graceful  ease. 
The  hand  her  chin  supporting,  while  a  pleased, 


100  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Yet  thoughtful  smile  inwreathed  the  scarlet  mouth 
As  sweet  and  ripe  as  fruits  from  sunny  south, 
The  shaded  eyes  in  reverie  bent  down, 
And  fixed  unconsciously  upon  the  ground. 

To-day  the  tidings  came  that  Henry  Bruce 
Was  once  again  in  town.     The  sudden  news 
Had  shown  to  Pansy  how  complete  had  been 
Her  conquest  over  her  regard  for  him  ; 
How  perfect  was  the  self-control  acquired ; 
Thanks  to  the  indignation  he'd  inspired, 
And  stronger  feeling  of  intense  disgust. 
At  his  entire  unworthiness  of  trust. 
And  so  to-night,  while  standing  at  the  gate, 
Where  they  had  parted  when  the  hour  grew  late, 
One  moonlit  eve  almost  a  year  ago, 
Her  thoughts  rolled  back,  as  swift  as  thoughts  can  flow. 
Reviewing  all  that  since  that  lovely  night 
To  her  had  come  ;  and  with  a  roguish  light 
Within  her  soft  eyes  couchant,  wondered  now 
If  they  should  meet  each  other,  where,  and  how ; 
.  If  he  would  seek  her  presence,  and  if  so. 
Debating  what  reception  to  bestow 
Upon  her  recreant  lover.     Let  him  know 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  101 

How  thoroughly  had  she  detested  him  ? 
Treat  him  as  if  forgotten  he  had  been  ? 
Or  like  an  old-time  friend  whom  now  she  met 
With  calm  indifferencej  but  no  regret. 

While  thus  she  mused,  she  heard  a  boyish  step, 
And  in  a  moment,  standing  by  her  side. 
Was  one  she  in  the  dim  light  recognized 
A  pupil  from  the  Institute  to  be. 
He  held  a  letter  in  his  hand,  which  he 
At  once  presenting,  said :  "  This  note.  Miss  Grey, 
I  bring  from  Mr.  Bruce ;  desired  to  say 
He  sends  it  with  his  compliments.     And  I, 
If  such  your  pleasure,  wait  for  your  reply." 

She  hesitated  for  an  instant,  then 
The  note  she  held  retnrned  to  him  again ; 
And  saying,  while  with  wide-dilated  eyes 
The  lad  at  her  was  stai-ing  in  svirprise  : 
"  My  compliments  to  Mr.  Bruce  present. 
And  take  him  back  the  note  !  "     She  turned  and  went 
With  careless  step,  and  gay,  untroubled  air, 
Within  the  house,  and  left  him  standing  there. 


102  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Two  mornings  later  slie  a  card  received, 
Desiring  lier  to  pass  the  foll'wing  eve 
With  Hattie  May,  lier  friend  ;  and  though  aware 
That  Mr.  Bruce  would,  without  doubt,  be  there, 
•  For  not  a  moment  did  she  hesitate 
The  invitation  to  accept.     Elate, 
Instead,  she  felt  at  thought  of  meeting  him, 
Who  once  had  such  a  favored  suitor  been : 
Quite  confident  of  showing  him  her  heart 
Had  not  been  broken  by  the  fickle  part 
He  one  year  since  had  played  ;  that  no  regret 
Her  heart  would  trouble  when  again  they  met ; 
To  let  him  know,  if  she  had  been  deceived 
She  had  at  least,  not  very  deeply  grieved. 

Determined  she  would  not  an  effort  spare 
To  look  her  best,  'twas  with  unusual  care 
That  she  that  eve  her  pretty  toilet  made  : 
As  recent  mourning  colors  bright  forbade, 
In  palest  lavender  she  was  arrayed  ; 
With  flowing  ribbons  of  the  purest  white, 
And  costly  laces,  beautiful  as  light ; 
Her  jewels,  pearls,  on  snowy  neck  and  arms, 
Whose  milky  lustre  from  the  girlish  charms 


m.. 


BROKEW  DREAMS.  103 

Did  not  detract,  but  added  beauty  gave. 

Her  heart's  warm  blood,  in  throbbing,  crimson  waves, 

Rushed  to  her  cheeks  and  there  triumphant  stayed, 

And  with  their  whiteness  all  the  evening  played. 

As  bright  as  scintillating  stars,  her  eyes, 

And  violet  as  winter's  eastern  skies. 

While  in  the  west  the  sunset  glory  dies. 

In  myriad  curls  low  drooped  her  lovely  hair, 

By  snowy  ribbon  bound,  and  nestling  there, 

Thi'ee  pansies  clustered,  modest,  sweet,  and  fair 

As  was  the  girl  who  wore  them.     On  her  white 

Forefinger,  sparkling  in  the  brilliant  light. 

Was  Sumner's  ring ;  and  as  she  placed  it  there, 

Remembered  Bruce  had  never  seen  her  wear 

The  costly  pledge — at  first  of  happy  love, 

And  then  of  saddened  friendship. 

Far  above 
All  others  she  in  beauty  stood — as  queen 
Of  mirth  and  loveliness  she  reigned  supreme 
All  through  the  festive  eve.     As  sweet  and  clear 
As  chimes  of  silver  bells  upon  the  ear 
Her  merry  laughter  fell,  coquettish  wiles 
And  saucy  repartee  alid  witching  smiles 


104  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Entranced  all  hearts  ;  and  gayest  of  the  gay, 
The  bright  eve  through,  was  pretty  Pansy  Grey. 

Afar,  her  former  suitor,  Henry  Bruce, 
Looked  on,  chagrined.     He  thought  this  eve  to  use 
Some  of  his  world-won,  fascinating  art. 
To  gain  his  old  place  in  the  girl's  proud  heart. 
Although  so  coolly  she  had  sent  him  back 
The  note  to  her  a  few  days  since  dispatched. 
And  once  again  was  he  obliged  to  own 
That  he  was  foiled.     Indeed,  the  fair  queen's  throne 
He  found  was  difficult  for  him  to  reach, 
So  very  rarely  there  occurred  a  breach 
Within  the  circle  where  she  held  her  court. 
And  deeply  ruing  his  attempt  to  sport 
In  former  days  with  this  proud  girl's  young  heart. 
Resolved  that  even  yet,  ere  they  should  part, 
Some  token  of  continued  warm  regard 
She  should  on  him  bestow,  however  hard 
The  task  might  be  to  win  it. 

Never  yet 
Had  he  on  woman  looked  with  such  regret, 
Such  admiration,  strong  desire,  and  love, 
As  now  he  gazed  on  her  who  seemed  above — 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  105 

Aye  !  far  beyond  his  reach.     One  whom  he  might, 
Except  for  his  mad  folly,  held  to-night, 
Within  his  arms,  his  cherished,  promised  bride. 
And  he  determined  he  would  there  abide 
Until  the  love  so  coldly  thrown  away 
Once  more  was  his,  and  pretty  Pansy  Grey 
Her  haughty  head  should  on  his  bosom  lay, 
And  while  he  placed  upon  that  little  hand 
The  emblem  of  their  troth,  own  him  the  man 
She'd  choose  from  all  the  world. 

At  this  he  glanced 
To  where  she  stood,  and  as  her  glove  she'd  chanced 
To  just  remove,  the  gleaming  ring  she  wore 
Flashed  back  at  him  in  langiiage  that  was  more 
Expressive  than  could  any  words  have  been. 
And  that  he'd  been  forestalled  seemed  telling  him. 

When  they,  that  evening  early,  first  had  met, 
She  greeted  him  with  graceful  ease,  and  yet 
A  certain  dignified  hauteur,  quite  new 
In  his  experience  of  the  girl.     'Tis  true, 
With  him  she  chatted  for  awhile  with  grace. 
Smiles  dimpling  now  and  then  her  lovely  face, 
5* 


106  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Was  quite  at  ease,  was  cordial,  pleasant,  gay, 
Did  not  avoid  him,  still,  in  every  way. 
Showed  her  inilifference  to  be  profound  j 
And  when  he  left  the  circle  gathered  'round, 
And  watched  her  from  a  distance,  could  but  see 
She  did  not  miss  him,  and  that  henceforth  she 
His  presence  there  did  quietly  ignore. 
And  seemed  as  gay  and  happy  as  before. 
Eight  skilfully,  indeed^  Miss  Pansy  Grey 
The  game  had  managed  that  she  meant  to  play  ! 


Days  swiftly  sped,  and  scarcely  one  passed  by 
But  that  they  met.     "With  still  unclouded  eye, 
And  graceful  ease  of  manner  meeting  him. 
Then  seeming  to  forget  him,  he  had  been 
As  yet  quite  unsuccessful  in  his  plans 
Fulfilling ;  and  at  last  the  reckless  man. 
Grown  desperate,  and  smarting  with  the  pain 
Of  loving  madly  one  from  whom  he  gained 
No  token  that  his  passion  was  returned. 
And  which,  on  his  part,  yet  more  fiercely  burned, 
The  more  it  hopeless  seemed,  resolved  to  close 
The  farce,  and  for  her  hand  at  once  propose ; 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  ■      107 

And  thus  the  state  of  her  affections  learn, 
And  if  his  love  he  ever  could  return. 

With  this  thought  fired,  at  once  he  sought  her  side, 
And  begged  an  iuterview.     She  opened  wide 
Her  lovely  eyes  in  manifest  surprise — 
Although  in  truth  'twas  merely  a  disguise 
To  hide  the  triumph  throbbing  at  her  heart 
At  the  success  with  which  she'd  played  her  part — 
But  merely  said  in  answer  to  his  plea : 
"  To-morrow  eve  I  disengaged  shall  be. 
And  will  with  pleasure  then  your  call  receive." 

He  bowed,  and  with  confusion  said :  "I  leave 
On  Monday  next  for  home,  and  therefore  thought. 
For  sake  of  olden  times,  we  surely  ought 
One  hoiu-  to  spend  together.     I've,  beside. 
Somewhat  to  say  to  you." 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  replied, 
"  To-morrow  eve,  then  !  " 

"  Thanks  !  Miss  Grey.     Good-night." 
And  with  a  bow  he  vanished  from  her  sight. 
Lost  in  the  crowd  around  him. 

Never  yet, 
As  in  the  weeks  elapsing  since  they  met, 


108  BBOKEN  DREAMS. 

Had  Pansy  been  so  charming,  lovely,  gay, 
O'er  those  around  her  exercised  such  sway ; 
While  Bruce,  for  having  madly  thrown  away 
A  prize  Uke  this,  his  folly  day  by  day 
More  deeply  cursed,  and  with  the  bands  of  love 
Became  more  firmly  bound ;  while  far  above, 
The  star  he  fain  would  grasped,  so  sweetly  shone, 
And  seemed  to  be  beyond  his  reach  alone. 


The  next  day  passed,  and  starry  evening  came ; 
And  with  it  Mr.  Bruce,  with  fevered  brain. 
And  heart  on  fire  with  love's  despair  and  hope  ; 
While  Pansy,  fresh  and  cool  in  summer  robe 
Of  dainty  mvTslin,  calmly  met  the  man 
Who  came  to  sue  that  evening  for  her  hand. 

But  topics  commonplace  were  broached  at  first. 
On  music,  books,  and  weather  they  conversed, 
And  Pansy  sang  for  him,  at  his  request. 
With  cheek  unchanging,  songs  he  loved  the  best 
Scarce  one  short  year  ago  ;  while  all  unrest) 
He  leans  on  her  piano  while  she  plays. 
His  clouded  eyes  fixed  on  her  placid  face ; 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  109 

And  when  she  paused,  and  then  at  him  looked  up 
With  smiling  archness,  he,  in  tone  abrupt, 
Exclaimed,  with  mirthless  smile  and  troubled  air, 
And  gaze  fixed  on  her  sparkling  solitaire  : 
"  Miss  Grey,  excuse  me,  what  a  lovely  ring 
Is  that  you  wear  !  but  may  I  ask  one  thing  ? 
Does  it,  as  one  might  fancy,  indicate 
A  bond  not  any  man  may  hope  to  break  ?  " 

She  blushed  a  little,  smiled,  looked  down,  and  said, 
While  lower  drooped  the  lovely,  proud  young  head  : 
"  As  pledge  of  troth  the  ring  was  giv'n  to  me, 
Though  yet  I  wear  no  other,  as  you  see  !  " 

The  man  beside  her  bit  his  haughty  lip 
In  sharp  despair,  as  thus  she  seemed  to  slfp 
Still  farther  from  his  reach ;  while  she  sat  there, 
Her  flushed  cheek  hidden  by  her  drooping  hair, 
And  on  her  lips  a  dreamy,  happy  smile. 
His  presence  seeming  to  forget  the  while. 

Filled  to  o'erflowing  seems  his  bitter  cup  ! 
And  in  his  heart  the  door  of  hope  fast  shut ! 
And  when  at  last  at  liim  she  glances  up, 


110  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  dreamy  smile  still  on  her  lip,  with  pain 

That  seemed  to  rend  his  throbbing  heart  in  twain. 

In  bitter  desperation  he  exclaims  : 

"  Oh,  Pansy !  is  there  then  noTiope  for  me  ? 

I  love  you  madly,  wildly — hear  my  plea  ! " 

He  caught  her  hand  ere  she  could  turn  away  : 

"  Oh  give  me  some  return,  I  beg,  I  pray ! 

Forgive  the  past,  forget  my  folly  mad, 

And  to  my  heart  come  back  again,  come  back  ! 

Don't  turn  away  so  coldly — Pansy,  love, 

Have  you  for  me  no  pity,  who  above 

All  others  worships  you  ?     When  you  alone 

Within  my  heart  must  ever  be  enthroned  ? 

My  queen,  my  heart's-ease,  speak,  I  beg,  command, 

And  tell  me  mine  shall  be  this  precious  hand. 

Have  you  no  word  for  me  ?  oh  Pansy,,  speak !  " 

She  drew  her  hand  away  ;  her  damask  cheek 
Had  paled  to  marble,  and  her  violet  eyes. 
That  jSrst  were  soft  and  blue  with  sad  surprise, 
Now  angrily  in  purple  splendor  flashed, 
While  her  indignant  heart  throbbed  hard  and  fast, 
As  he  referred  thus  boldly  to  the  past. 


BBOKEN  DBEAMS.  Hi 

Awliile,  sweet  Pity  in  lier  gentle  lieart 

Had  reigned  supreme,  as  it  was  plain  the  part 

That  he  rehearsed  was  earnestly  sincere, 

And  not  mere  acting  as  the  previous  year. 

But  when  of  that  time  he  reminded  her, 

And  back  there  rushed  the  feelings  that  had  stirred 

In  those  sad  days  her  heart's  profoundest  depths, 

And  which  recalled,  brought  anguish  even  yet. 

Resentment  from  her  thi'one  mild  Pity  swept. 

And  she  with  scorn  returned  : 

"  Release  my  hand  ! 
What  word,  think  you,  can  I  have  for  the  man 
Who  scarce  one  year  ago  so  coolly  planned 
To  gain  from  me — for  mere  amusement,  too — 
Confession  of  regard  for  him,  and  who. 
By  all  the  wiles,  and  base,  seductive  arts 
Known  to  his  treach'rous  sex,  to  win  my  heart 
Made  every  effort,  with  the  vile  intent 
To  throw  away  the  love  that  he  had  spent 
So  much  of  talent,  time,  and  art  to  win. 
And  though,  thank  God,  he  failed,  what  words  for  him, 
I  say,  can  Xhave,  saving  those  of  scorn. 
Of  my  contempt  and  detestation  born  ! 


112  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

No  !     Henry  Bruce,  the  time  has  long  gone  by, 
When  any  bond  can  join  us,  you  and  I ! 
Once,"  and  her  tone  gi-ew  softer,  "  once,  I  say, 
You  might  have  won  the  boon  you  crave  to-day, 
Once  I  from  all  the  world  would  chosen  you  ; 
You  trifled  with  me  !  proved  how  vain,  untrue, 
Unworthy  fond  affection  was  your  heart ; 
And  now  the  love  yoii'd  fain  to  me  impart 
I  scorn  as  much  as  him  who  offers  it. 
Contempt  has  quenched  the  flame  of  love  you  lit, 
And  only  dead  gray  ashes  now  remain  !  " 

She  paused  and  glanced  at  him ;  with  fearful  pain 
His  lips  were  writhing,  white  as  frost,  his  cheek, 
While  in  his  eyes  there  darkly  burned,  and  deep, 
The  anguish  of  his  slighted,  hopeless  love. 
And  as  she  gazed,  soft  as  a  brooding  dove's 
Became  her  lovely  eyes,  wliile  in  their  depths 
Divine  compassion  slowly,  sweetly  crept.' 

At  last  he  spoke  :  "  Have  pity,  oh,  I  pray  ! 
Nor  from  my  anguish  coldly  turn  away ; 
'  To  err  is  human  ;  to  forgive,  divine !  ' 
Oh,  pardon  then  this  sad  mistake  of  mine, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  113 

And  let  nie  go  away,  if  go  I  must, 
Assured  of  your  forgiveness,  pity,  trust. 
See !  here  I  kneel,  your  pardon  to  implore, 
Oh,  look  with  kindness  on  me,  love,  once  more. 
Think  what  my  lot  must  henceforth  be,  deprived 
Of  what  alone  could  give  a  charm  to  life. 
Will  not  my  fate  sufficiently  be  hard, 
Without  the  cruel  scorn  of  your  dear  heart  ? 
Can  you  not  pity  me,  forgive,  foi'get. 
And  let  me  have  your  friendship  even  yet, 
If  I  your  priceless  love  must  not  expect  ?  " 

As  sweet  as  softest  trill  of  happy  birds. 
Was  Pansy's  voice,  and  sweeter  still  her  words, 
As  stretching  forth  to  him  her  dainty  hand, 
She  from  the  floor  raised  the  despairing  man. 

"  Rise,  Hemy  !   I  forgive,  forget ;  no  more 
Will  I  with  scorn  remember,  what  of  yore 
Gave  me  such  grievous  pain.     To-night  blots  out 
All  errors  of  the  past.     I  cannot  doubt 
The  truth  of  your  repentance,  and  no  less. 
The  love  sincere  which  you  for  me  profess ; 
And  I  for  pardon  surely  could  not  pray. 
If  mine  to  you  I  should  deny  this  day. 


114  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

I  therefore  fully,  freely,  all  forgive  ; 
And  trust  that  you  this  passion  may  outlive, 
And  that  a  love  more  precious  far  than  mine, 
Across  your  shadowed  pathway  soon  may  shine. 
Dear  friend,  God  bless,  protect,  and  comfort  you, 
And  be  your  guide  life's  weary  journey  through," 

She   paused,    then    murmured   soft :    "  Farewell,  my 
friend  !  " 
Upon  his  shoulder  laid  her  hand,  then  bent 
And  pressed  with  tender  pity  on  his  brow, 
Where  pain  had  left  its  traces  even  now. 
Her  soft,  pure  lips  ;  then  murmured  once  again, 
"  Take  comfort,  Henry  ;  fare-thee-well,  my  friend  !  '' 

A  door  closed  softly,  and  he  stood  alone  ; 
And  turning,  sadly  left  the  pretty  home 
Of  her  he  loved,  no  more  to  enter  there, 
Where  Hope  had  died  in  arms  of  pale  Despair. 


Time  took  a  step,  and  one  more  year  was  gone  ! 
The  vanished  months  had  swiftly  swept  along, 
And  brought  not  much  of  incident  to  those 
Of  whom  I  write.     Fall's  harvests,  Winter's  snows. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  115 

Spring's  blossoms,  Summer's  verdure,  all  had  brought 
Their  pleasures  with  them.     Every  season  fraught 
With  varied  joys  had  been  :  and  Autumn  now 
Had  placed  upon  the  far-off  mountain's  brow 
A  coronet  of  rubies;  while  the  plains,' 
Long  shorn  of  all  their  wealth  of  ripened  grain, 
Were  brown  and  sere,  as  if  they  ne'er  had  worn 
The  verdant  garment  careless  hands  had  torn 
From  off  their  fruitful  bosoms. 

Pansy  Grey 
Had  watched  the  days  and  months  fast  slip  away, 
Wliile  no  event  disturbed  the  placid  calm. 
Which  o'er  her  heart  had  settled,  since  the  man 
Who  once  had  trifled  with  her,  she  had  left 
Of  all  his  hopes  for  love's  return  bereft. 
A  sigh  of  pity  shook  her  gentle  breast, 
As  she  remembered  him  who  then  addressed 
Such  words  of  strong  impassioned  love  to  her, 
As  hopeless  too  as  deep,  but  covild  not  stir 
Her  heart  with  any  answering  thrill  of  fond 
Or  sweet  affection.     He  had  slipped  beyond 
The  cii'cle  of  her  hopes,  desires,  and  fears. 
And  from  her  life  had  vanished  with  the  year. 


116  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Witliin  the  interval  thus  passed  away, 
Yet  other  suitors  had  Miss  Pansy  Grey ! 
But  let  whoever  would  the  girl  approach, 
Her  mother  ever  some  objection  broached. 
And  all  of  them  by  turns  had  been  dismissed. 
One — Charlie  Strong — did  for  a  time  persist 
In  his  attentions  to  the  pretty  maid, 
And  boldly,  too,  his  preference  displayed. 
How  far  between  them  matters  had  progressed, 
Before  the  crisis  came,  I  must  confess 
To  tell  I'm  quite  unable ;  and  but  know. 
That  on  the  night  when  came  the  final  blow 
That  parted  them  forever,  Pansy  wept 
The  dark  hours  through,  nor  for  a  moment  slept, 
Untn  the  rosy  fingers  of  the  dawn, 
Plucked  ofi"  the  golden  stars  from  Heaven's  lawn. 
Night's  ebon  casket  shutting  fast  within. 
The  gems  whose  splendor  coming  day  had  dimmed. 
Thus  vanished  one  by  one  her  dreams  away. 
And  all  her  idols  soon  in  ruin  lay. 

Not  all,  as  yet !  one  friend  she  still  possessed, 
And  deemed  him  ever  truest,  noblest,  best. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  1 1^ 

Torn  as  her  heart  was  oftentimes,  in  truth, 

With  disappointment  sharp,  from  which  her  youth 

Had  never  served  to  shield  her,  she  to  him 

Turned  ever,  as  to  one  who  held  within 

His  nature  depths  of  truth  and  nobleness, 

Not  many  of  his  faithless  sex  possess  ; 

And  also  felt  assured,  not  any  test 

Would  prove  him  aiight  but  manliest  and  best. 

Her  correspondence  with  her  friend  Pavil  Hart, 
Was  still  in  progress  ;  and,  on  either  part, 
With  yet  increasing  pleasure  carried  on  : 
While  from  it  an  attachment  strong  as  fond, 
And  confidence  entire  as  rare,  had  sprung. 
No  misconceptions  jarring  chords  had  x'ung, 
Misunderstandings  were  as  yet  unknown, 
And  harmony  and  trust  each  missive  toned. 
Were  either  trovibled  ?  they  had  but  to  speak, 
And  back  there  came  a  sympathy  as  sweet, 
As  perfect  and  sincere.     Were  either  glad  ? 
The  other  also  joyed ;  and  thus  there  had 
Between  them  come  to  be,  of  feeling,  thought. 
And  purpose,  harmony  complete.     Both  sought 


118  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  other's  pleasure  in  each  word  they  wrote, 
"While  back  again  each  joy  conferred  did  float.. 

Perhaps  no  better  could  I  now  explain 
The  terms  on  which  they  stood  when  Autumn  came, 
The  year  to  which  I've  heretofore  referred, 
Than  here  to  give  an  extract,  word  for  word, 
Of  one  of  Paul's  epistles  to  Miss  Gi-ey, 
Received  by  her  the  previous  month  of  May. 

"The  week  is  closing  as  I  take  my  pen 
To  write  to  you,  my  treasured,  dearest  friend ; 
With  fears  you  are,  by  my  compelled  delay, 
A  disappointed  little  girl  to-day. 
My  being  absent  for  a  week  will  show 
Why  I'm  delinquent;  yet  you  surely  know 
I  would  not  thus  delay  to  write  to  you, 
Did  circumstances  not  compel  me  to. 

"  This  is  my  birthday !  and  I  speak  of  it 
With  melancholy  pleasure,  I  admit,   . 
If  not  with  sadness,  still  with  some  regret 
My  life  has  borne  so  little  fmit  as  yet ; 
That  twenty-seven  years  I've  lived — for  what  ? 
Not  wholly,  I  believe  and  hope,  for  naught, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  119 

Nor  yet  without  a  purpose ;  still,  to  feel 

So  little  I've  accomplislied,  can  but  steal 

The  charm  with  which  the  future  might  been  i-ife 

If  circumstances  in  my  early  life 

Had  but  been  diff'rent.     Still,  no  cause,  perhaps, 

Have  I  to  thus  complain.     Those  who  in  laps 

Of  luxury  and  tender  ease  are  reared, 

Advantages  possessing  year  by  year. 

That  J"  could  only  dream  of,  after  all 

Have  not  much  better  done. 

"  But  to  recall 
My  past  life  in  this  letter,  farther  back 
Than  doth  extend  the  happy,  golden  track 
Of  our  acquaintance,  was  not  my. intent. 
Two  years  will  soon  have  vanished  since  I  sent 
To  you  my  first  epistle ;  op'ning  thus 
A  correspondence  which  has  been  to  us 
So  pleasant !     Has  it  not,  dear  ?  for  I  trust 
The  joy  it  gives  has  not  been  mine  alone. 
And  looking  backward  at  the  years  now  flown, 
Among  the  scenes  of  which  sweet  Pansy's  held 
A  place  most  prominent,  can  on  them  dwell 
Without  e'en  one  regret'.     And  that  is  more 
Than  I  can  say  of  all  my  life  before. 


120  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

How  pleasant  other  scenes  perchance  have  been, 

A  tinge  of  sorrow  or  regret  within 

Their  mem'ry  ever  lurks.     Not  thus  with  you ! 

The  current  of  my  thoughts,  when  to  my  view 

Your  face  arises,  seen  in  fancy's  light, 

Is  placid  as  has  been  the  surface  bright. 

Of  our  majestic  Mississippi,  when 

Upon  its  banks  I've  stood,  as  o'er  it  bent 

The  glory  of  a  southern  sunset  sky. 

And  as  I  watched  the  waters  gliding  by, 

Of  you  in  pleasant  reverie  have  thought. 

"  This  for  the  past  and  present !     No  less  fraught 
With  joy,  the  future  looms  before  me  ;  fears 
For  it  I  have  none  !     Mayhap  not  for  years. 
Perchance  ere  this  one  dies,  our  hands  shall  meet 
In  friendly  clasp,  and  we,  my  sister  sweet. 
Shall  know  each  other  better  far  than  those 
Who  daily  meeting,  rarely  yet  disclose 
To  each  their  inner  self,  though  oft  revealed 
In  correspondence  such  as  ours.     I  feel 
That  had  we  met  in  fashion's  haunts  alone. 
Or  e'en  in  daily  life,  we  could  not  known 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  121 

Each  other's  truest  self  one  half  so  well 
As  now  we  do. 

"  My  pen  must  fail  to  tell 
"What  you  have  been  to  me  !     Nor  can  I  help 
The  thought  our  intercourse  has  been  to  us 
A  mutual  benefit ;  for  each,  I  trust, 
Is  better  for  the  other  having  known. 
I'm  sure  that  either,  if  the  truth  were  owned, 
Sees  nothing  to  regret,  save  that  no  more 
To  smooth  the  other's  path,  oft  shadowed  o'er 
By  heavy  clouds,  we  had  the  power  to  do. 
Is  it  not  so  ?     Have  we  not  been  of  true 
And  sincere  friends,  the  truest,  dearest,  best? 
Models  of  harmony  ?  and  for  the  rest. 
Examples  proving  true  the  theory 
That  friendship  'tween  the  sexes  there  may  be? 
I  think  so  !  I  am  much  attached  to  you, 
And  place  the  most  entire  reliance,  too, 
On  your  sincerity  and  kind  regard. 

"So  be  the  time  that  keeps  us  far  apart 
Or  long  or  short — if  we  shall  meet  before 
Another  birthday  comes,  or  when  a  score 
6 


122  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Have  passed  away,  oh  let  us  still  remain, 
'  As  now,  controlled  by  friendship's  silken  rein, 
The  while  these  silent  messengers  shall  keep 
Our  spirit  love  alive  until  we  meet, 
And  see  each  other  face  to  face  at  last." 

This,  of  the  letters  which  for  two  years  past 
Had  weekly  come  to  Pansy  from  her  friend, 
A  fair  example  was.     But  now  the  end 
Was  swiftly  drawing  nigh.     Acquaintance,  sure. 
Must  bring  some  change ;  resolve  their  friendship,  pure. 
Into  a  warmer  sentiment,  or  leave 
Them  less  than  friends.     Whate'er  they  might  believe, 
'Twas  simply  quite  impossible  they  could 
Remain  the  same. 

So  when  the  distant  wood 
Put  on  the  royal  robes  fair  Autumn  brought. 
And  blushed  in  fevered  beauty,  which  was  naught 
But  premonitions  of  approaching  death. 
And  chilly  blew  the  coming  Winter's  breath, 
A  letter  brought  the  tidings  to  Miss  Grey, 
That  Paul  would  be  with  her  the  foll'wing  day. 

Fast  beat  Miss  Pansy's  pxilses  when  at  last 
His  ring  awoke  the  echoes,  and  she  passed. 


■^ 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  123 

With  short  delay,  to  meet  her  unknown  friend. 

A  moment  pausing  for  composure,  then 

The  door  she  opened,  and  before  her  stood 

The  visitor  expected.     Neither  could 

At  first  have  spoken !     Silent  both  remained 

An  instant  only,  then  the  one  exclaimed 

"Pansy!—"  the  other  "  Mr.  Hart! — "  their  hands 

Were  clasped  in  greeting,  and  as  Paul  advanced, 

He  saw  a  girlish  figure  full  of  grace, 

In  trailing  purple  robes,  from  which  a  face 

All  purity  and  sweetness  loomed  above — 

A  girl  he  thought  just  fitted  to  be  loved — 

And  she,  a  man  tall,  dark,  with  noble  form. 

Whose  joy  at  meeting  in  the  hand-clasp  warm, 

And  kindly  glances  of  his  handsome  eyes, 

Was  plainly  spoken. 

Each  to  realize 
The  fact  they  were  at  last  together,  found 
It  diSicult  indeed  ; — they  half  seemed  bound 
By  sleep's  enchantment,  and  the  present  scene 
A  play  enacted  in  the  land  of  dreams. 
Each  to  the  other  seemed  a  stranger,  yet 
Like  old-time  friends  as  well.     In  all  respects 


124  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

They  felt  a  freedom  only  friends  can  claim, 
The  while  a  sense  of  strangeness  gave  restraint. 

When  they  the  parlors  reached,  Paul  turned  again, 
And  holding  out  his  hand  exclaimed :  "  My  friend, 
You  look  just  like  yoiu'self !  just  what  I  deemed 
Would  Pansy  be !  " 

"  Yes  ?  "  she  returned,  while  streamed 
The  rich  blood  to  her  fair,  soft  cheek,  "  And  you 
Are  somewhat  like  my  fancy  of  you  too !  " 

And  later,  when  beneath  the  brilliant  lights 
Which  on  them  fell  with  radiance  soft  and  bright. 
They  stood,  he  said  again :  "  To  be  with  you 
Seems  very  natural ;  and  though  'tis  true, 
Your  pictures  do  not  give  the  justice  due 
To  your  attractions,  you  are  very  like 
Them  truly,  and  converse  just  as  you  write. 
Nor  am  I  disappointed  yet,  in  aught ! 
I  find  you  much  more  charming  than  I  thought." 

But  Pansy  felt  she  could  not  say  the  same  ! 
The  photograph  that  with  his  first  note  came, 
Had  flattered  him  exceedingly,  and  he 
Was  far  less  pleasing  than  she  deemed  he'd  be. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  125 

His  twenty-seven  years  not  liglitly  sat 
Upon  his  broad,  high  brow :  and  few,  in  fact, 
But  would  have  added  ten  years  more  to  that, 
Had  they  his  age  atterapted  to  divine. 
While  on  liis  fine,  dark  face,  full  many  a  line 
Of  care  or  pain  had  deeply  been  impressed. 
His  eyes,  the  finest  feature  he  possessed, 
Were  very  handsome  ;  yet  one  never  knew 
If  they  were  black  or  gray,  or  brown  or  blue. 
They  neither  were,  in  fact,  but  all  by  turns. 
Dark-haired,  full-bearded,  and  a  mouth,  if  stern 
Or  flexible,  the  long  mustache  concealed ; 
But  when  a  smile  his  fine  white  teeth  revealed 
And  lighted  up  his  eyes,  his  face  became 
Transformed,  and  owned  a  subtle  charm,  'twere  vain 
Attempting  to  resist. 

His  manner,  too, 
Though  deferent,  and  pleasing,  it  is  true, 
Quite  gentlemanly  ever,  and  suave, 
Still  lacked  the  polish  she  had  deemed  'twould  have. 

Thus  was  the  lovely,  but  fastidious  girl, 
E'en  'mid  the  tremulous,  exciting  whirl 


126  BROKEN  BBEAM8. 

In  which  his  coming  had  her  senses  thrown, 
Obliged,  although  reluctantly,  to  own 
That  far  below  the  standard  she  had  reared 
He  surely  fell.     While  she  to  him  appeared 
Far  more  attractive  than  he  deemed  she  would  ; 
More  young  and  fair,  more  lively,  sweet  and  good. 

In  pleasant  chat  the  evening  passed  away ; 
And  one  would  not  have  thought  they  met  that  day 
As  strangers,  so  entirely  all  restraint 
Was  thrown  aside. 

Paul's  letters  all  contained 
As  many  fond,  endearing  terms  as  might 
Have  been  bestowed  upon  his  promised  bride. 
"  My  treasure,"  "pet,"  "  my  spoiled  child,"  and  the  like. 

In  fact,  in  every  manner  did  he  pet  her. 
That  any  one  could  possibly  by  letter  ; 
And  though  Miss  Pansy  scarcely  felt  incliaed 
To  grant  him  favors  in  so  short  a  time, 
Paul  so  accustomed  was  to  give  to  her 
Such  tender  words,  so  oft  his  heart  had  stirred 
In  sweet  anticipation  of  the  day 
When  they  at  last  should  meet  and  throw  away 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  127 

All  barriers  of  restraint,  now  tliat  the  time 

So  longed  for  had  arrived,  he  seemed  to  find 

It  hard  to  recollect  he  had  no  right 

To  be  to  her  as  tender  as  he  lik^ — 

To  take  her  in  his  arms  he  strongly  ■wished, 

Nor  scarcely  that  temptation  could  resist. 

Once  bending  forward,  he  her  crimson  cheeks  * 

Smoothed  softly,  gazed  within  her  eyes  so  deep, 
Then  said  :  "  Oh,  I  expect—  " 

He  did  not  close 
The  sentence,  adding  then:  "  I  don't  suppose 
You  like,  my  dear,  for  me  to  pet  you  much  !  " 
As  Pansy  seemed  to  shrink  beneath  his  touch. 

She  laughed,  and  while  she  pushed  his  hand  away, 
Keturned :  "  Please  finish  what  you  meant  to  say  ! 
What  is  it  ?  you  expect —  "  she  paused — 

■ "  I  fear," 
He  finished  for  her :  "  Now  at  last  I'm  here, 
That  I  shall  spoil  you  worse  than  ever,  dear !  " 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  let  you  !  "  she  replied. 
Yet  even  after  this  she  felt  surprised. 


128  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

When,  later  in  the  evening,  Paul  exclaimed  : 
"  You've  not  fulfilled  your  promise !  " 

"  Please  explain ; 
I  do  not  understand !  "  l^iss  Grey  replied. 
"  To  what  do  you  refer?  "     She  opened  wide 
Her  eyes,  and  looked  at  him  for  explanation. 
When  he,  to  her  surprise,  and  consternation. 
With  sudden  act  bent  forward,  and  his  head 
Against  her  rocker  resting,  softly  said  : 
"  My  sister  sweet,  you  told  me  if  I  came. 
That  I  a  kiss  from  those  soft  lips  might  claim."    , 

But  Pansy,  slightly  shrinking,  turned  away 
Her  face,  and  laughing  shortly,  answered  :  "  Nay  I 
My  meaning  you  mistook !     I  recollect 
I  said  I  should  not,  nor  must  you  expect 
From  me  such  favors.     Do  not  you  recall 
I  told  you,  very  nice  indeed  that  all 
Might  be  to  talk  of,  with  a  thousand  miles 
Between  us  intervening  all  the  while  ? 
Did  I  not  ask  you  also  what  you'd  think 
Of  any  lady  who  would  fail  to  shrink 
From  giving  such  caresses  to  a  man 
Almost  a  stranger  ?  " 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  129 

Paul  took  up  her  hand 
And  raised  it  to  his  lips  without  replj. 

The  evening  hours  passed  very  fleetly  by, 
And  when  they  were  about  to  say  good-night, 
He  took  her  hands  in  tender  clasp,  if  light, 
Then  said  :  "  Dear  Pansy,  you  are  good,  I  know  !  " 

"  Indeed,  you  do  not !  time  alone  will  show 
To  you  how  good  I  ani,",tshe  laughing  said ; 
And  then — "  I  think  I  have  no  foes ;  instead, 
Am  sure  that  many  friends  and  true,  I  claim." 

"  You  always  have  been,  and  will  stiU  remain,     * 
I  trust,  the  dearest  friend  J^ever  had  !  " 

Then  softly  Pansy  answered  :  "  I  am  glad ! 
I  always  wanted  to  be  first,  yoix  know !  " 

"  I  know  it,  yes  !  "  he  said. 

"  Now  I  must  go  ! 
Good-night,  Paul ;  pleasant  dreams  be  yours,  and  sweet, 
Until  the  morning  copies,  when  we  shall  meet !  " 


130  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

"  Good-night,  my  sister  ! "  with  a  lingering  clasp, 
The  two  soft  hands  he  held  released  at  last, 
And  their  first  eve  together  all  was  past. 


In  loveliness  unrivalled  dawned  the  mom, 
And  seemed  a  day  from  early  spring-time  born ! 
Pansy  and  Paul  the  forenoon  spent  alone. 
And  both  to  see  how  swift  the  hours  had  flown 
Were  quite  astonished.     Pleksant,  lively  chat 
On  books  and  persons,  places,  and,  in  fact, 
On  any  topic  chancing  to  be  broached, 
Was  interspersed  with  music,  'till  approached 
The  hour  for  breaking  all  the  morning's  fast. 
And  when  the  mid-day  meal  at  length  was  past, 
The  sunny  fingers  of  the  perfect  day 
So  sweetly  beckoned  them  to  come  away. 
That  they  prepared  the  summons  to  obey. 

Although  with  hasty  fingers  Pansy  made 
Her  walking  toilet,  still  she  felt  afraid 
That  Paul  would  think  her  very  long  away, 
^j|.nd  quite  impatient  get  at  her  delay. 
But  when  at  last  she  hastened  dow^  the  stair. 
She  found  him  lounging  in  an  easy  chair,  ■" 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  131 

Perusing  quietly  the  pretty  scene 
Which  ends  the  "  Golden  Legend ;  "  in  his  mien 
»A  sign  of  nothing  save  content  supreme. 
And  as  against  his  chair  Miss  Pansy  leaned, 
And  drawing  on  her  gloves  looked  o'er  his  book, 
He  only  paused  to  give  her  one  fond  look, 
And  slipping  'round  her  slender  waist  his  arm, 
Read  on  as  if  he  knew  no  other  charm 
Than  that  the  book  afforded ;  while  his  heart 
The  sweetness  felt  in  every  hidden  part 
Which  in  the  tender,  willing  contact  dwelt. 
And  as  to  Pansy,  I'm  afraid  she  felt 
The  subtle,  tingling  pleasure  scarcely  less, 
And  yielded  to  it  more,  I  must  confess, 
Than  should  a  model  woman. 

Ne'ertheless, 
As  I  have  sometime  since  with  frankness  ov/ned, 
What  also  I  herein  have  often  shown, 
That  Pansy  Grey,  my  heroine,  was  not 
By  any  means  perfection,  trust  that  what 
I've  freely  written  of  the  girl's  defects 
Will  not,  my  reader,  lessen  your  respect. 

All  women  are  but  frail,  and  weaker  still 
The  other  sex  in  principle  and  will. 


132  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

In  every  one  is  some  weak  point  revealed, 

And  tempted  there  they're  almost  sure  to  yield. 

And  woman,  though  the  fraUer  sex  she's  called, 

Is  still  expected  to  resist  in  all 

The  strong  temptations  that  may  her  befall ; 

While  he  who  offers  them  has  ne'er  a  thought 

Of  like  resistance,  or  that  there  is  aught 

Of  obligation  on  himself  imposed. 

To  shield  poor  woman  from  the  subtle  foes, 

15 

To  whose  beguiling  wiles  she's  oft  exposed. 

Instead  of  guarding  with  his  very  life 
Her  truth  and  purity,  to  bitter  strife 
Himself  subjects  her  tender,  loving  heart; 
Employing  all  the  fascinating  art 
That  may  avail  t'  induce  her  to  depart 
From  Virtue's  paths  of  purity  and  peace. 
And  while  subjecting  her  to  wiles  like  these. 
Thus  basely  using  all  his  powers  to  please, 
And  to  his  own  wild  passions  giving  rein, 
Expects  his  human  sister  to  remain 
As  chaste  as  snow,  as  cold  as  spajrkling  ice, 
And  shutting  up  her  heart  as  in  a  vice. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  133 

Through  all  temptations  never  once  betray 
By  word  or  act,  look,  tone,  or  feature's  play, 
That  she's  possessed  of  passions  like  to  his, 
Whose  gi'atifying  equal  pleasure  gives. 

Oh  fathers,  husbands,  brothers  !  is  it  right. 
Or  justice  either,  thus  to  basely  blight 
The  lives  of  those  you  should  with  tender  care 
Shield  from  temptation's  subtle,  pow'rful  snare  ? 
Or  fair,  to  such  control  from  her  demand. 
While  you  make  no  attempt  at  self-command  ? 

Mi^  Pansy  had,  like  all  the  human  world, 
Her  faults  and  frailties ;  and  the  pretty  girl. 
On  looking  back,  was  forced  with  some  surprise 
To  frankly  own  she  sometimes  was  not  wise 
In  yielding  for  a  moment  to  the  charm 
Which  dwells  within  the  clasp  of  tender  arms, 
The  pressure  of  fond  lips  in  passion's  kiss. 
Thrilling  two  warm  young  hearts  with  subtle  bHss ; 
Although  her  purity  and  self-respect 
Innate  and  sweet  she  kept  intact  as  yet. 

But  Paul — he  was  not  noble,  as  she  thought ; 
And  though  with  seeming  eagerness  he  sought 


134:  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

To  •vsdn  lier  love,  when  once  lie  deemed  the  prize 

Had  been  attained,  he,  too,  was  far  from  wise, 

And  in  his  vanity  and  self-conceit 

Allowed  the  girl  to  see  he  deemed  complete 

His  power  o'er  her  affections  ;  that  he  thought 

Her  love  was  his,  unwished  for  and  unsought. 

And  when  the  proud,  if  loving,  maiden  felt 

The  bitter  truth,  her  wounded,  stung  heart  swelled 

With  indignation,  and  he  swiftly  fell 

From  off  the  pedestal  where  he'd  been  placed, 

And  from  her  high  esteem  was  thus  erased. 

A  slight  misunderstanding  first  began 
What  into  discord  permanent  soon  ran. 
He  tried  her  fearfully  in  every  way : 
Fretted  and  vexed  her  more  than  I  can  say : 
Her  character's  defects,  however  slight, 
Relentlessly  contrived  to  bring  to  light, 
While  she,  to  his  intent  entirely  blind. 
Betrayed  the  faults  he  basely  tried  to  find  j 
And  as  before  her  fairest  side  alone, 
Her  nature's  purity  and  strength  she'd  shown. 
Now  her  worst  points  as  freely  she  revealed. 
And  naught  attempted  ever  to  conceal.    .. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  135 

Not  well  her  cards  did  Pansy  this  time  play. 
Indeed  they  all  upon  the  table  lay, 
And  her  opponent  freely  saw  her  hand, 
And  in  accordance  did  his  own  game  plan. 

■<*• 

The  qualities  she'd  thought  that  he  possessed 

In  rare  degree,  the  noblest  traits  and  best, 
For  which  she  gave  him  credit,  now  she  found 
That  he  was  wanting  in  entirely.     Sound 
And  true  as  she  had  ever  thought  his  heart, 
She  proved  it  to  contain  in  lavish  parts, 
Conceit  and  vanity,  and  selfish  pride. 
And  all  her  good  opinion  slowly  died. 
She  deemed  him  gen'rous  also,  to  extremes, 
And  found  that  only  in  her  owti  fair  dreams 
His  generosity  existed. 

Thus 
Soon  vanished  all  her  tenderness  and  trust. 
In  fact  they  both  were  disappointed.     He, 
In  finding  her  so  speedily  to  be 
Not  quite  the  angel  he  had  thought  her, — she 
That  he  was  not  the  model  she  had  deemed. 
And  yet  they  both  were  better  than  the  mean. 
Not  many  of  his  sex  have  kinder  hearts. 


136  BROKEN'  DREAMS. 

Or  better  principles ;  and  had  some  art 

Been  used  by  her  in  managing  her  part, 

Or  she  been  better  tmderstood  by  him, 

There  doubtless  had  no  difficulty  been. 

She,  too,  was  of  her  sex  as  sound  and  sweet 

As  any  that  we  often  chance  to  meet. 

But  both  looked  through  distorted  eyes,  and  thus 

Their  confidence  soon  vanished  in  distrust. 

The  night  before  'twas  Paul's  intent  to  go, 
They  had  a  long,  calm  talk,  and  came  to  know 
Each  other  better  than  they'd  done  before. 
And  'twas  agreed  that  they  should  think  no  more 
Of  what  had  been  unpleasant  in  the  week 
That  they  had  spent  together ;  no  more  speak 
About  the  painful  past,  but  let  it  all 
Be  buried  deep,  and  lost  beyond  recall, 
And  part  the  same  dear  friends  they'd  ever  been. 
And  Pansy  held  her  nature  sweet  within, 
The  pow'r  to  thus  forgive  him  and  forget ; 
But  he  was  too  ungenerous  as  yet 
To  do  the  same ;  and  therefore  when  he  wrote, 
Instead  of  saying  nothing  in  his  note, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  137 

Of  what  they'd  both  consented  to  ignore, 

He  all  unpleasant  points  again  went  o'er; 

And  she  with  indignation  throbbing  hard 

At  her  insulted,  tortured,  proud  young  heart. 

Saw  plainly  'twould  be  useless  to  believe 

That  they  could  ever  more  be  friends,  and  grieved, 

And  angry,  she  resolved  to  not  reply, 

And  end  all  future  intercourse  thereby. 

And  thus  her  woman's  heart  again  was  torn  ; 
Of  confidence  in  love  or  friendship  shorn. 
And  as  she  turned  the  blotted,  blistered  page, 
On  which  the  bitter  lesson  was  engi'aved. 
She  felt  within  the  depths  of  her  sad  heart 
No  previous  wound  had  borne  such  painful  smart ; 
No  other  task  had  been  so  hard  to  learn. 
No  leaf  so  blotted  she  before  had  turned. 
Could  she  that  fatal  week  lived  o'er  again. 
How  diff'rent  would  the  record  of  it  been  ! 
She  ne'er  before  had  lost  her  self-respect. 
That  was,  she  felt,  the  hardest  burden  yet. 
Which  she'd  been  forced  to  bear. 

And  so  she  wept 
More  for  herself  than  for  the  friend  she'd  lost ; 


138  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  wIlo  it  seemed  had  tlius  her  pathway  crossed, 
To  only  leave  her  poor  heart  tempest-tossed, 
And  battling  with  despair,  regret,  and  pain, 
With  hope,  and  love,  and  confidence  all  slain ; 
To  feel  when  from  the  past  she  turned  away. 
Another  lovely  dream  in  ruins  lay. 
Another  idol  proved  but  common  clay. 


BKOKEN    DREAMS. 


BOOK  SIXTH. 


"  What  matters  a  few  more  tears, 
Or  a  few  days'  waiting  longer, 
To  one  that  has  waited  for  years  ?  " 

Owen  Meredith. 


Broken  Dreams. 


00k   S  X  ^  t  Ij  ♦ 


Old  Time,  his  age  forgettiBg,  glided  on 
Apace  !     Fair  Night  her  sable  mantle  donned, 
And  wearing  on  her  regal  brow  a  crown 
Of  gleaming  stars,  in  dark-blue  setting,  down 
Upon  the  hushed  and  slumbering  hill-clasped  town, 
Now  wrapped  in  Winter's  garments  soft  and  white. 
Looked  long  and  lovingly.     A  single  light 
Gleamed  through  the  dusky  veil  that  hid  the  place 
So  closely  clasped  in  Slumber's  still  embrace ; 
And  as  the  Night  peeped  through  the  half-shut  blind, 
From  which  the  glimmer  stole  from  time  to  time, 


142  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Slie  saw  a  large,  but  plainly  furnished  room, — 

Such  as  those  occupy  whom  God  has  doomed 

To  live  without  the  sweet  delights  of  home. 

Where  happy  comfort  can  be  found  alone, — 

And  close  before  the  grate,  whose  glowing  coals 

Long  since,  unheeded,  paled  to  ashes  cold, 

A  tall,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  head  bent  down 

Upon  his  breast,  in  revery  profound : 

His  close-set  lips,  and  broad,  contracted  brow, 

Betraying  plainly  that  his  musings  now 

Were  anything  but  pleasant,  fond,  or  sweet. 

The  man  had  dark-blue  eyes,  not  large  nor  deep  ; 
His  hair,  his  full,  long  beard,  and  curled  mustache. 
Were  all  dark  brown ;  his  chin  in  firm  mould  cast; 
And  though  not  void  of  charms,  by  any  means, 
In  face  or  manner,  one  would  never  dream 
Of  thinking  him  a  handsome  man,  howe'er 
The  eyes  that  looked  on  him  might  hold  him  dear. 
He  smiled  but  rarely,  then  with  lips  alone, 
Which  parting,  teeth  revealed  whose  whiteness  shone 
In  pleasing  contrast  with  the  dark-brown  beard. 
A  smile  so  sweet  that,  when  it  first  appeared, 
One  gazed  surprised  and  fascinated,  while 
They  watched  to  see  again  that  fine,  rare  smile. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  143 

In  movement  he  was  somewhat  slow,  in  speech 
Deliberate  yet  fluent ;  and  in  each 
A  sort  of  lazy  grace  thei-e  was,  to  him 
Peculiar, 

His  career  had  thus  far  been 
Not  one  of  credit  to  himself  or  friends ; 
And  seemed  to  hold  in  view  no  noble  ends. 
His  family  was  good,  and  he  to  them 
Was  ever  truly  kind  ;  not  many  men 
Are  more  entirely  temperate  than  he. 
His  habits  were  not  bad,  his  hand  was  free, 
His  heart  as  tender  as  a  little  child's 
When  suff 'ring  woke  his  sympathy  ;  and  mild. 
And  fine,  and  sweet  his  temper,  such  as  few 
So  blest  are  as  to  have.     And  yet,  'tis  true 
That  notwithstanding  this,  he  stood  outside 
The  pale  of  good  society,  nor  tried 
In  any  manner  to  his  fame  redeem,  ^ 
Or  win  again  the  people's  lost  esteem. 
And  any  mother  would  have  shrunk  with  pain 
From  every  chance  that  might  her  daughter's  name 
Connect  with  his. 

With  passions  hot  and  strong, 
A  reputation  he  had  borne  for  long, 


144  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

That  he  in  dealing  with  the  other  sex 

Was  quite  unscrupulous  ;  and  if  correct 

Tlie  rumors  were  that  floated  to  the  ears 

Of  his  townspeojDle  oft,  'tis  to  be  feared 

That  many  a  woman  rued  the  day  she  met 

The  man  whose  arts  had  plunged  her  in  the  depths 

Of  shame  and  dark  despair.     I  do  not  knoAV 

How  true  the  rumors  may  have  been,  although 

That  it  is  difficult,  I  do  know  well, 

How  much  is  false  of  what  we  hear  to  tell. 

Suffice  it,  then,  such  was  the  name  he  bore 

In  all  the  town. 

His  thirty  years  and  more 
Still  saw  the  man  without  an  aim  in  life, 
Still  saw  his  home  ungraced  by  child  or  wife. 
No  girl  in  all  the  place  could  say  her  hand 
Had  e'er  been  sought  by  him.     And  had  the  man 
Thus  far  stej^jDed  through  the  middle/  age  of  life 
Without  a  thought  of  winning  him  a  wife, 
To  fill  his  heart  with  love's  divine  content. 
His  home  with  woman's  svinshine  ?     Then  what  meant 
The  clouded  brow,  and  look  of  tender  pain 
That  set  his  lips,  as  through  the  guarded  pane 


BROKEN  DUEAMS.  145 

The  Night  peeped  softly  !     Was  his  heart  so  cold. 

No  woman's  face  an  impress  warm  'twould  hold  ? 

Then  why  that  tremulous  and  long-drawn  sigh, 

That  hand  tight  clenched,  that  moistened,  pain-filled  eye  ? 

A  lovely  face  had  long  been  painted  there. 
And  yearly  to  his  eyes  more  passing  fair 
Had  grown  the  picture.     As  he  looked  to-night 
At  every  sweet  detail  in  fancy's  light, 
And  pictured  what  his  life  would  be,  if  blest 
With  her  companionship — if  to  his  breast 
He  once  might  press  that  lovely,  girlish  form, 
While  'round  his  neck  with  pressure  soft  and  warm 
Her  dainty  arms  should  linger,  he  so  longed 
With  man's  intensity  of  passion  strong, 
For  one  caress  from  her  so  wildly  loved — 
The  only  woman  e'er  his  soul  approved- 
It  seemed  as  if  his  heart  would  burst  with  grief, 
And  only  love's  return  could  give  relief. 
And  'mid  it  all  he  felt  with  hopeless  pain, 
Which  they  alone  can  know  who  love  in  vain. 
His  vision  never  could  be  realized  ; 
Ne'er  could  he  gain  the  longed-for,  precious  prize. 
Nor  \vin  one  tender  look  from  those  dear  eyes  ; 


146  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

In  kindly  greeting  never  touch  that  hand ; 

But  calmly  must  look  on  and  see  some  man 

More  fortunate,  more  worthy,  careless  wear 

The  flower  he  would  have  guarded  with  such  care. 

With  love's  intensity  of  deep  despair, 

He  felt  the  truth,  she  stood — oh  far  beyond 

His  utmost  reach,  nor  ever  could  respond 

To  all  the  wealth  of  mighty  tenderness 

Which  through  all  time  must  throb  within  his  breast 

For  her  and  her  alone. 

She  did  not  dream 
How  madly  she  was  worshipped.     In  his  mien 
Or  greeting,  when  sometimes  by  chance  they  met. 
No  token,  was  there  of  the  love  that  swept 
With  such  mad  fury  through  his  stormy  heart. 
No  glance  of  tenderness,  no  troubled  start, 
No  trembling  tone,  betrayed  to  her  the  smart 
Her  careless  greeting  ever  left  with  him, 
When  o'er  him  rushed  the  thought  "  it  might  have  been  !  " 
The  very  "  saddest  words  of  tongue  or  pen." 
Sadder  to  women  often  than  to  men. 
And  only  those  who  by  experience  know 
The  bitter  anguish,  aggravating  woe, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  I47 

And  stern  despair  of  unreqviited  love, — ■ 

Pain  one  can  never  conquer,  wMcli  above 

All  sounds  of  revelry,  all  happy  song. 

Will  ring  its  anguished  sobbings  sad  and  strong — 

I  say,  those  only  that  such  woe  have  known 

Can  realize  what  pen  has  never  shown, 

The  weary  wailings  of  a  loving  heart, 

Lonely,  unsatisfied,  with  constant  smart, 

Longing  for  that  content,  sweet  peace,  and  rest 

With  which  were  love  returned  it  might  be  blest. 

The  world  seems  all  at  odds  !     Those  whom  we  should 
Hold  dearest  ever  seem  to  us  less  good. 
Less  worthy  of  our  highest,  sweetest  love, 
And  by  our  hearts  less  warmly  are  approved, 
Than  others  who  are  far  beyond  our  reach. 
While  those  whom  reason,  conscience,  custom  teach 
No  aspiration  we  should  have  to  win, 
Seem  to  our  dazzled  eyes  to  hold  within 
Their  perfect  natures  all  the  gifts  we  prize. 
Seem  loveliest  and  best,  most  sweet  and  wise. 
Most  capable  to  fill  our  emj^ty  hearts 
With  all  the  joy  a  perfect  love  imparts. 
And  all  our  finest  powers  to  employ. 
Yet  those  most  loving  rare  their  love  enjoy. 


148  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

We  grasp  at  what  but  labor  can  obtain, 

While  all  within  our  reach  seems  worthless,  vain ; 

And  Satan  laughs  and  Christ  looks  down  with  pain, 

To  see  from  sin  how  little  we  abstain  ; 

How  weak  our  human  natures,  and  above 

All  else,  how  potent  is  our  finite  love. 

Strong  as  was  this  man's  passion,  lie  had  kept 
His  secret  well.     Of  all  the  tears  he  wept 
Over  his  idol  ne'er  to  be  attained, 
Of  all  his  hours  of  dreary,  hopeless  pain, 
Of  all  his  longings,  powerful  as  vain, 
None  ever  dreamed.     One  friend  alone  had  guessed 
The  secret  sorrow  in  this  man's  proud  breast. 
And  all  Ms  knowledge  was  surmise  alone. 
A  lawyer,  Edward  Vernon,  who  had  known 
For  long  this  David  Golden,  known  him  well 
And  called  him  friend,  had  marked  the  troubled  swell 
Of  this  man's  strong,  proud  bosom,  when  there  fell 
Athwart  his  gaze  a  certain  form  and  face 
Of  girlish  beauty  and  unconscious  grace : 
Had  noted,  too,  the  bright'ning  of  his  eye 
When  she  appeared,  th'  involuntary  sigh 
That  shook  his  bosom  when  the  girl  passed  by. 


BROKEN  BBEAMS.  149 

And  drew  his  own  conclusions :  liow  correct 
They  might  perchance  be,  he  did  not  expect 
To  be  informed  by  him.     And  thinking  too 
That  there  was  little  hope  for  him,  'tis  true, 
He  never  broached  the  subject  save  to  one — 
His  wife — who  half  believed  she  might  be  won. 
It  happed  the  girl  was  intimate  with  her, 
And  she  determined,  should  a  chance  occur 
To  ascertain  her  feelings  toward  him. 
To  take  advantage  of  it.     There  had  been 
As  yet  no  oppoi'tunity  to  find 
How  he  might  stand  within  the  fair  girl's  mind. 

And  so  to-night  he  sat  by  his  dead  fire. 
Struggling  with  passion's  unfulfilled  desire, 
Hopeless — unloved  by  her  whose  witching  face 
Came  up  to  taunt  him  with  his  love  misplaced ; 
While  her  dear  name  on  every  page  was  traced 
In  mem'ry's  book,  whose  leaves  to-night  he  turned, 
While  in  his  heart  such  bitter  longing  burned. 
And  "  reading  backward"  all  the  record  drear 
Of,  oh,  so  many  weary,  weary  years. 
He  felt  life  held  for  him  but  pain  and  tears. 


150  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Since  first  lie  looked  upon  lier  lovely  face, 
Then  but  a  tiny  child's,  a  sacred  place 
Within  his  heart  she'd  held  ;  and  he  could  trace 
With  faithful  pencil  every  after  change 
Which  had  her  pure  life  varied,     Naught  his  range 
Of  loving  vision  ever  could  escape. 
And  he  had  felt  at  times  his  heart  must  break. 
As  watching  from  afar  he  saw  her  wooed 
By  those  he  knew  must  be  by  her  approved, 
And  placing  to  his  lips  the  bitter  cup 
Of  resignation,  gave  his  darling  up. 
But  when  he  saw  the  favored  one  dismissed, 
And  knew  she  stUl  was  free,  he  could  but  list 
With  eager  ear  to  Hope's  suggestions  sweet, 
And  let  her  whisper  ease  the  pain  that  beat 
Through  each  pulsation  of  his  tortured  heart, 
And  comfort,  though  it  might  be  slight,  impart. 


And  what  of  Pansy  Grey !     How  sped  the  time 
With  her,  this  little  heroine  of  mine  ! 
Bight  swiftly  flew  the  days,  or  bright  or  drear, 
'Till  o'er  the  threshold  of  another  year 
Her  dainty  feet  had  stepped.     Her  mind  still  held 
The  mem'ry  of  the  pain  that  last  had  swelled 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  151 

Her  proud  young  heart  to  bursting.     When  she  felt 

Her  latest  dream  slip  from  her  loving  grasp, 

And  with  humiliation's  bitter  clasp 

Her  tortured  soul  close  hugging,  felt  with  shame 

That  for  its  ruin  she  was  much  to  blame  ; 

The  while  she  could  but  think  with  calm  contempt 

Of  him  whose  friendship  had  so  little  meant. 

But  in  her  royal  nature  still  there  lay 

The  pow'r  to  thrust  such  memories  away  ; 

To  silence  all  regret  for  what  was  past, 

And  ne'er  could  be  recalled,  and  let  the  last 

Unpleasant  lesson  wisdom  teach  her  heart, 

Restraining  her  the  while  from  such  a  part 

Again  enacting. 

Taking  all  her  grief 
To  Him,  who  in  His  loving  hands  relief 
As  full  as  sweet  doth  hold  for  all  our  pain. 
Whose  comfort  none  shall  ever  seek  in  vain. 
She  left  it  all  with  Him ;  and  on  His  breast 
Wept  all  her  troubled  grief  away,  and  blest 
With  His  continued  love.  His  tender  smiles, 
Came  forth  from  what  to  her  seemed  grievous  trials, 
With  strength  increased,  completer  purity 
Of  heart  and  life,  a  sweet  maturity 


152  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Of  thought  and  act,  and- — what  a  rarity- 
Has  long  become — a  noble  charity 
For  others'  faults ;  all  which  but  added  much 
Unto  a  nature  erst  so  fine,  a  touch 
Of  dignity  imparted  to  an  air 
So  full  of  sweetness  ever,  to  her  fair, 
Sunshiny  face  an  added  brightness  gave, 
And  in  her  every  act  a  grace  betrayed 
As  new  as  it  was  charming. 

Sweet  content 
Had  crept  into  her  heart !  and  wisely  meant, 
She  felt  her  trials  all  had  been,  and  sent 
By  One  who  loved  her  with  a  love  profound, 
A  tenderness  whose  fulness  knew  no  bounds, 
And  bending  'neath  her  Saviour's  chast'ning  rod 
With  sweet  submission,  murmured  low,  "  Oh  God, 
My  King,  my  Master,  let  Thy  will  be  done. 
Forgive  and  bless  Thy  child,  through  Christ,  Thy  Son." 


The  brilliance  of  a  fleeting  winter's  day, 
Whose  sunshine's  golden  glory  gayly  lay 
On  high-piled  banks  of  newly  fallen  snow, 
Blushing  beneath  the  Day-God's  ardent  glow, 
Was  dimming  rapidly,  when  Pansy  sat 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  153 

In  close-cut  cloak  and  small  coquettisli  hat, 
In  Mrs.  Vernon's  pleasant  rooms,  a  chat 
Enjoying  with  her  friend.     The  talk  had  turned 
On  David  Goldfen ;  and  a  soft  flush  burned 
Upon  the  girl's  fair  cheek,  and  in  her  heart 
She  felt  a  little  sudden  flutter  start. 
As  Mrs.  Vernon  carelessly  remarked  : 
"  I  fancy  David  would  be  very  kind 
To  one  he  loved,  and  should  he  ever  find 
A  woman  suited  to  his  heart  and  mind. 
Who  his  affection  could  return  in  kind, 
I  think  his  wife  would  have  a  very  true 
And  tender  husband ;  Pansy,  do  not  you  ?  " 

The  girl's  deep  blushes  very  eloquent 
To  Mrs.  Vernon  seemed,  and  quite  content 
She  felt  at  her  experiment's  success, 
As  Pansy  answered  soft :  "  I  think  so  ;  yes  !  " 

Above  her  work  the  lady  bent  her  head. 
The  subject  dropped  as  nothing  moi"e  was  said. 
Pansy  in  silence  through  the  casement  looked, 
Her  nervous  fingers  toying  with  a  book 
That  rested  in  her  lap ;  her  lovely  eyes 
On  vacancy  were  fixed.     She  felt  surprised 


154  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

That  this  man's  name  should  move  her  thus,  noi-  could 
Sufficient  cause  discover  why  it  should. 
Was  she  a  woman  he  could  love,  or  he 
One  who  to  her  could  ever  dearer  be  ? 
She  spoke  on  impulse  but  a  moment  since ; 
"Was  she  of  what  she  uttered  qui^e  convinced  ? 
She  never  gave  the  subject  thought  before, 
Nor  was  the  question  settled,  wlien  the  door 
Was  opened  wide,  and  Mr.  V.  walked  in. 
She  rose  to  greet  him,  chatted  too  with  him 
•A  moment  gayly,  then  prepared  to  go. 

"  Miss  Grey,  you  cannot  walk  through  all  this  snow  !  " 
The  man  exclaimed — "  Stay !  I've  a  fiiend  out  here, 
I'll  send  him  round  to  drive  you  home,  my  dear ! 
You'll  ride  with  him  ?     'Tis  David  Golden  !  " 

"No! 
Oh  no  !  "  Miss  Pansy  answered :  "  do  not  go, 
'Tis  but  a  step,  I  do  not  mind  the  snow." 

"  I'll  send  him  'round  at  once ;  I  know  you'll  ride  ?  " 

« Indeed—" 

"  Yes,  yes,  she  will !  "  his  wife  replied ; 
*'  I  promise  for  her,  go  and  send  him  here. 
'Tis  tii-esome  walking  in  the  snow,  my  dear !  " 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  155 

"  You  both  conspire  against  me,  I'm  afraid  ; 
I  scarcely  know  the  man  !  "  and  Pansy  played 
Confusedly  with  muff  and  tassels,  smiled 
And  frowned,  amused  and  vexed  as  well. 

Meanwhile, 
Squire  Yernon  strode  to  where  he  left  his  friend ; 
"  I  found  Miss  Grey  in-doors,  and  said  I'd  send 
You,  David,  'round  to  drive  her  home.     You'll  go  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  ?  she'd  not  ride  with  me,  I  know  !  " 

"  Oh  yes,  she  will ;  drive  on,  my  friend,  and  see !  " 

A  moment  later  'neath  the  great  elm-tree, 
Which,  when  in  Summer's  heavy  dress  ai-rayed, 
Bent  o'er  the  gate  with  flick'ring  light  and  shade, 
A  handsome  team  drove  up  !     Two  well-matched  bays 
Pranced  restlessly  before  a  faiiy  sleigh 
Well  filled  with  heavy  robes,  while  silv'ry  bells 
With  merry  music  on  the  clear  air  fell, 
At  every  motion  of  the  fiery  steeds. 

The  man  stepped  out  and  waited  ;  though,  indeed, 
With  little  hope  that  he  should  be  allowed 


156  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  pleasure  lie  desired.     His  clouded  brow 
Betrayed  the  doubt  he  felt,  but  nothing  showed 
The  strong  desire  with  which  his  soul  o'erflowed. 
Hope  and  Despair,  a  conflict  fierce  and  sharp, 
In  that  brief  moment  waged  within  his  heart. 
But  Hope  proclaimed  her  triumph  when  the  door 
Was  opened,  and,  the  ladies'  farewells  o'er, 
The  slender,  graceful  figure  of  the  girl. 
Who  held  within  her  hand  his  heart's  whole  world, 
Tripped  down  the  walk  and  soon  stood  at  his  side  : 
The  clouded  brow  was  gone  !     Despair  had  died, 
And  Hope  leaped  high  within  his  tender  heart ; 
While  through  his  pulses  with  a  sudden  start. 
The  sensitive  life-current  bounded  fast, 
As  he  her  white  hand  took  in  tender  clasp. 
And  placed  her  in  her  seat.     A  moment  more. 
And  he  was  by  her  side,  and  gliding  o'er 
The  sparkling,  crusted  track,  far  past  her  door, 
With  no  remonstrance  from  the  girl  that  sat 
Close  at  his  side. 

The  drive  to  her,  in  fact, 
Was  only  less  delightful  than  to  him. 
The  snow,  though  fresh,  had  hardly  trodden  been, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  167 

By  constant  travel  tlirovigli  the  lovely  day, 
And  white  as  marble  in  the  shadow  lay, 
While  where  the  sunset's  roses  on  it  fell, 
'Twas  pink  as  woman's  blushes,  when  there  swells 
Within  her  heart  the  musical  refrain 
That  echoes  to  the  sweetly  solemn  strain 
Of  love's  triumphant  paean,  sung  by  one 
Whose  heart  with  hers  in  harmony  is  strung. 
The  sky  above  was  one  unclouded  arch, 
Whereon  Night's  Royal  Highness  had  her  march 
Begun  already.     Blue  the  broad  expanse 
Far  overhead,  where  in  his  proud  advance. 
The  sun  had  shook  from  off  his  golden  robe 
Some  gleaming  sparks  that  spangled  all  the  road 
With  starry  glory,  faintly  shining  now. 
But  when  behind  the  distant  mountain's  brow 
The  God  of  Light  should  vanish,  they  would  gleam 
With  bright  effulgence,  and  their  radiance  seem 
Like  eyes  of  angels — peeping  through  the  light 
And  misty  veil  that  from  our  finite  sight 
Shuts  in  the  heav'nly  glory — keeping  guard 
Above  the  sleeping  world,  wrapped  in  the  dark 
And  gloomy  robes  of  night.     The  western  skies 
With  golden,  crimson,  amber,  purple  dyes 


158  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

"Were  radiant,  while  at  the  eastern  bounds, 
The  violet  border  sweeping  grandly  down 
To  reach  the  mountain  summits,  lost  its  hue 
Above  in  rose  which  melted  into  blue. 
The  bounding  stream  was  clasped  in  icy  hands, 
Wliich  held  the  sulky  waters  as  with  bands 
Of  gleaming  steel  or  iron ;  while  on  its  bright, 
Translucent,  glassy  surface,  forms  of  light 
And  graceful  beauty — forms  as  well  of  strong 
And  manly  outlines,  glided  swift  along ; 
The  while  from  happy  hearts  a  snatch  of  song 
Oft  ringing  out,  and  blending  with  the  bells. 
With  witching  sweetness  on  the  clear  air  fell. 

"Would  Pansy  be  a  woman,  not  to  feel 
The  magic  of  the  scene's  perfection  steal 
Through  all  her  active  senses  ?  not  to  yield 
To  that  entrancing  charm  that  ever  dwells 
Within  the  melody  of  tinkling  bells. 
When  prancing  steeds  o'er  tracks  of  crusted  snow 
Bear  on  a  happy  burden  ?  not  to  show 
In  eye  and  smile,  and  cheek's  bewitching  glow, 
The  pleasure  she  enjoyed  ?     And  would  the  man 
Who  sat  beside  her,  holding  in  his  hand 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  159 

The  guiding  ribbons,  to  bis  sex  belong, 

If  harmony  of  bells  and  merry  song 

And  all  the  loveliness  of  earth  and  sky 

Were  not  unheeded,  while  his  longing  eye 

Might  dwell  upon  a  picture  still  more  fair, 

More  precious  far  to  him  ? — while  sitting  there, 

So  close  her  perfumed  breath  might  sweep  his  cheek. 

So  near  their  shoulders  met  in  contact  sweet. 

Which  made  his  trembling  pulses  faster  beat. 

Was  one  he  loved  ?  whom  in  his  wildest  dreams 

He'd  never  hoped  might  thus  against  him  lean 

In  seeming  confidence  and  kind  regard. 

He  shut  his  teeth  and  drew  his  breath  in  hard. 

In  efforts  to  resist  the  impulse  strong 

To  take  this  girl  that  he  had  loved  so  long 

Close  to  his  throbbing  heart,  now  that  she  sat 

Within  his  longing  reach  ;  now  that  a  fact 

His  wishes  had  become,  and  they  at  length 

Were  thus  alone  together.     All  his  strength 

Was  requisite  in  efforts  to  repress 

The  utterance  of  the  mighty  tenderness 

Which  swelled  within  his  heart. 

She  little  knew 
What  perfect  bliss  to  hiin,  what  torture  too, 


160  BROKEN  DBEAIIS. 

This  hour  with  her  was  giving  !     Only  felt 
That  in  his  smile  a  fascination  dwelt, 
As  sweet  as  subtle ;  that  he  looked  at  her 
With  glances  which  with  sudden  tremor  stirred 
The  Kfe-blood  at  her  heart — that  bent  her  head 
And  flushed  her  cheek  with  rose. 

Not  much  was  said  ! 
Miss  Pansy  felt  a  trifle  shy  with  him, 
So  very  slight  had  their  acquaintance  been, 
And  he  in  eager  draughts  was  drinking  in 
The  gladness  of  her  presence. 

You  who  long 
And  vainly,  too,  have  loved,  with  passion  strong 
And  potent  as  was  his,  and  seen  at  last 
Your  brightest  dreams,  and  fondest  longings  pass 
To  sweet  fulfilment, — you  will  understand 
How  much  these  moments  were  to  this  proud  man. 

A  sudden  start  of  his  impatient  steeds, 
Seemed  some  excuse  afibrding  him,  indeed. 
To  draw  his  arm  around  the  lady's  waist, 
And  thus  securely  keep  her  in  her  place. 
That  he  had  caused  the  start,  I  cannot  say ; 
.  Although  so  like  a  man  to  take  that  way 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  161 

To  his  desire  accomplish.     I  but  know 
Th'  excuse  to  act  upon  he  was  not  slow ; 
And  though  he  dared  not  draw  his  darling  close, 
E'en  in  that  slight  embrace  he  felt  the  most 
Intense,  exquisite  pleasure.     Thus  at  last 
To  hold  his  love  within  his  arm's  sure  clasp, 
Was  joy  enough  for  once,  he  felt,  and  so 
Refrained  from  startling  her  by  further  show 
Of  tenderness,  lest  she  should  not  again 
Confer  such  pleasure  on  him. 

Only  when 
The  town  they  were  approaching,  and  he  knew 
He  must  release  the  girl,  for  one  or  two 
Brief,  blissful  moments,  was  his  careless  clasp 
Around  her  tightened,  while  so  hard  and  fast 
His  fond  heart  throbbed,  had  he  a  woman  been 
Tears  would  his  strong  emotion  melted  in. 
And  when  her  gate  was  reached,  and  from  the  sleigh 
He  lifted  her,  and  she  looked  up  to  say : 
"  Thanks,  Mr.  Golden  !     I've  enjoyed  the  ride 
Exceedingly!  "  he  joyfully  replied. 
The  while  his  heart  with  hope  and  fear  beat  fast : 
"I'm  glad  you  found  it  pleasant !     May  I  ask 
That  you  will  favor  me  again,  Miss  Grey  ?  " 


162  BROKEN  DBEAMa. 

"  Oh  yes,  with  pleasure  !  "  and  she  turned  away, 
As  he  with  bow  and  smile  stepped  in  his  sleigh. 
And  glided  swiftly  on. 

It  seemed  to  him. 
Asleep  and  dreaming  he  had  surely  been, 
When  he  attempted  first  to  realize 
The  fact  that  she,  this  woman  whom  he  prized 
Above  all  others,  had,  for  one  sweet  hour. 
Sat  close  beside  him  ;  and  no  earthly  power 
Could  snatch  from  him  the  blessed  consciousness 
That  once  his  arms  had  held  her  to  his  breast — 
She  scarce  resisting  the  impassioned  press — 
That  once  he'd  clasped  her  little  soft  white  hands. 
While  in  his  face  she  looked  with  kindly  glance. 
And  as  he  sat  before  his  fire  thSt  night, 
He  felt  his  life  had  grown  so  wondrous  bright, 
That  all  his  future  path  must  glow  with  light. 

And  what  of  Pansy  ? .    Well,  she  could  but  own 
A  feeling  quite  unlike  all  she  had  known 
Before,  was  nestling  in  her  heart.     She  felt 
Surprised  to  know  what  subtle  power  dwelt 
In  this  man's  glance,  and  rarely  lovely  smile. 
She'd  known  him  slightly  for  a  long,  long  while  j 


BBOEEN  DREAMS.  1G3 

In  fact,  since  she  was  but  a  "  wee  sma' "  child  ; 
And  thought  of  him  most  kindly,  it  is  true. 
Since  he  to  her  a  tiny  packet  threw 
One  day  some  years  agone,  wherein  she  found 
A  golden  cross,  with  large,  clear  pearls  set  'round. 
The  packet  she  with  care  had  laid  away. 
Just  as  it  came  to  her  that  summer  day. 
No  one  but  her  the  pretty  gift  had  seen — 
She  never  wore  it ! 

Yet  she  did  not  dream 
That  such  a  circumstance  would  e'er  occur. 
As  had  this  pleasant  afternoon  to  her  ; 
That  she  should  drive  with  him,  without  demur 
Submit  to  have  his  arm  around  her  waist. 
Which  there  so  gently,  tenderly  was  placed. 
And  give  her  free  consent  to  ride  again 
With  one  she  felt  could  scarce  be  called  a  friend. 
So  very  slightly  did  she  know  the  man. 

Yet  after  all  she  seemed  to  understand 
By  intuition,  that  a  motive  lay 
Beneath  the  tenderness  that  he  betrayed 
All  through  the  hour  which  they  together  spent. 
More  deep  and  strong — that  something  more  was  meant 


1G4  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

Than  just  the  passing  pleasure  any  man 

Would  have  in  pressing  woman's  soft  white  hands, 

In  holding  to  his  heart  a  fair  young  girl 

Who  chanced  to  sit  beside  him,  in  the  whiid 

Of  sweet,  delirious  pleasure,  which  to  hearts 

Young,  gay,  and  loving  such  a  drive  imparts. 

His  tenderness  seemed  much  too  deep  and  grave, 

To  but  the  troubling  be  of  passion's  waves  ; 

His  manner  bore  to  her  too  much  respect 

To  be  mere  trifling,  and  although  as  yet 

She  scarcely  thought  he  loved  her,  covild  but  guess 

'Twere  not  impossible  his  tenderness 

Might  into  love's  divine  intenseness  melt, 

Nor  much  displeasure  at  the  prospect  felt. 


BROKEN    DREAMS. 


BOOK   SEVENTH. 


-:j[/i- 


"Love  hath  set 
Our  days  in  music,  to  the  self -same  air !" 

Owen  Meredith. 

'  I  know  that  tender  friends  of  me 
Have  taUced  with  broken  hint  and  glance — 
The  choicest  flowers  of  calumny, 
That  seem,  Uke  weeds,  to  spring  from  chance. 
That  small,  small,  imperceptible 
Small  talk,  which  cuts  like  powdered  glass 
Ground  in  Tophana — ^none  can  teU 
Wlicre  lurks  the  power  the  poison  has  1 
I  may  be  worse  than  they  would  prove, 
(Who  knows  the  worst  of  any  man?) 
But  right  or  wrong,  be  sure  my  love 
I"  not  what  they  conceive,  or  can." 

Owen  Meredith, 


Broken  Dreams 


oak   S^iJtnlfj. 


Spring  kissed  the  palsied  earth  to  bounding  life ! 
With  bloom  and  verdure  every  nook  was  rife ; 
With  melody  the  soft,  sweet  air  was  fraught, 
From  warbling  bird  and  laughing  brooklet  caught. 
To  two  glad  hearts  a'  new  enchantment  dwelt 
In  leaf  and  bud  and  bloom — new  charms  were  felt 
In  balmy  air,  and  rippling  stream,  and  song 
Of  bird  and  bee,  with  which  the  sweet  day  long 
Was  vocal. 

David  Golden  seemed  to  breathe 
A  new  and  sweeter  atmosphere ;  to  leave 


168  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

The  old  life,  with  its  weary,  vague  unrest, 
Its  pains,  its  follies,  and  unworthy  quests, 
Far,  far  behind  him;  while,  with  perfect  joy 
That  thrilled  his  heart  whate'er  his  time  employed. 
He  revelled  in  the  consciousness  so  sweet. 
That  he  his  love  might  almost  daily  meet. 
Assured  he  should  from  her  no  words  receive 
But  those  of  gracious  kindness — never  leave 
The  charming  gii-l  without  some  blessed  mark 
Of  having  gained  within  her  pure,  young  heart 
A  higher  place,  Avithout  a  blush  and  smile 
So  sweet  and  Avitching  that  he  felt  beguiled 
Ear  deeper  into  love's  mysterious  maze  ; 
While  fairy  Hope  tinged  all  the  perfect  days 
With  sweetest  hues  of  rose,  and  all  his  life 
With  dreamy  pleasure  and  content  was  rife. 

And  as  to  Pansy,  in  her  guileless  heart, 
She  felt  to  life  ^  new  emotion  start ! 
A  joy  which  beautified  all  common  things, 
Which  brightened  every  care,  and  threw  bright  rings 
Of  sunlight  over  every  daily  cloud, 
That  ofttimes  threat'ningly  above  her  bowed. 
For  not  all  brightness  was  the  fair  girl's  life, 
And  with  vexations  sore  each  day  was  rife. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  169 

But  now  they  seemed  mere  trifles,  viewed  with  eyes 

So  filled  with  happy  light,  that  rosy  dyes 

Seemed  tinging  every  dark-hued,  weary  care. 

Life  seemed  to  grow  bewilderingly  fair, 

While  in  a  dream  of  pleasure  sped  the  hours, 

And  every  moment  blushed  with  Hope's  sweet  flowers 

Which  Love's  glad  hands  swift  gathered.     Ne'er  before 

Had  she  approached  the  threshold  of  a  door 

Which  opened  on  a  scene  so  passing  fair. 

As  that  she  saw  while  on  Hope's  winding  stair 

Her  shy,  reluctant  feet  were  ling'ring.     Bright, 

Beyond  her  utmost  fancy,  was  the  light 

Love  shed  upon  her  future.     Never  yet, 

In  all  her  life's  most  pleasant  retrospect, 

Had  such  content  been  cradled  in  her  heart. 

Such  sweet,  entrancing  joy  filled  every  part. 

Such  pleasure  through  her  bounding  pulses  thrilled, 

As  that  which  now  each  happy  moment  filled. 

Ne'er  blushed  such  witching  beauty  in  her  face, 
Ne'er  owned  her  manner  such  entrancing  grace. 
Ne'er  rang  her  happy  laugh  so  wondrous  aweet. 
Ne'er  through  her  tones  did  such  sweet  music  leap. 
As  in  the  past  few  pleasant,  perfect  weeks. 


170  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  was  it  love  that  threw  such  golden  gleams 
Athwart  her  path  ?     Had  all  her  "  broken  dreams  " 
The  blight  of  love's  resemblance  been  alone, 
And  had  she  ne'er  the  one  grand  passion  known 
Until  this  man,  with  his  bewitching  smile, 
Had  crossed  her  path,  and  with  a  word  beguiled 
Her  heart  from  out  her  keeping  ?  leaving  there 
A  happiness  so  perfect,  that  she  cared 
But  little  for  its  loss.     And  this  man  too ! 
Whom — though  he  ever  treated  her,  'tis  true, 
With  deference  and  most  profound  respect — 
She  knew  in  social  life  had  never  stepped 
Within  the  circle  where  she'd  ever  moved. 
And  that  her  choice  would  be  by  none  approved. 
Should  she  consent  to  give  to  him  her  life. 
And  be,  when  he  should  ask,  his  tender  wife. 

But  then,  what  matter  if  she  loved  the  man ! 
And  if  to  him  she  chose  to  give  her  hand. 
Why  need  her  friends  presume  to  interfere. 
In  int' rest's  that  were  hers  alone,  'twas  clear. 
And  when  she  only  would  be  forced  to  bide 
The  consequences  of  her  act.     No  right 
Had  any  to  objection  make,  except 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  171 

Her  mother,  and  by  her  she  must  expect 
To  be  opposed,  whoe'er  she  might  select. 

But  did  she  love  him  ?  swiftly  flushing  cheek, 
As  through  her  veins  her  heart's  warm  current  leaped 
And  thrilled  her  rampant  pulses — softened  eye, 
And  happy  smile,  made  eloquent  reply. 
Oh  yes !  at  last  she  loved !  and  if  in  vain, 
If  blighted  all  her  brilliant  hopes  became. 
She'd  find  that  sharp  as  might  have  been  the  pain 
Which  she  had  suffered  as  her  idols  fell 
In  days  long  past,  'twas  but  a  little  swell 
Of  shallow,  tui-bid  water,  when  compared 
With  wasted  love's  broad  ocean  of  despair. 
That  she  a  broken  heart  had  now  to  moui^n, 
And  not  a  fleeting,  shattered  dream  alone. 


The  pleasant  drive  that  winter  afternoon 
By  other  pleasant  ones  was  followed  soon ; 
And  only  had  the  sweet  initial  proved 
To  that  companionship,  which  into  love 
Had  ripened  trusting  friendship.     Neither  knew 
One  doubt  that  reciprocity  was  true, 


172  BROKEN  DEEAM8. 

And  in  each  other's  passion  being  pure, 
And  lasting  as  'twas  sweet,  they  felt  secure. 

He'd  sweetly  told  his  love  a  thousand  times — ■ 
In  softened  eye,  and  trembling  tone,  and  miae 
Of  tenderness,  which  in  his  rare,  sweet  smile 
Dwelt  ever,  in  his  arm's  embrace  the  while 
They  glided  o'er  the  paths  of  trodden  snow, 
Or  walked  at  eve  together,  while  the  glow 
Of  sunset  lingered  on  the  hiU-tops  far, 
Above  -which  gleamed  the  brilliant  "  evening  star,"- 
But  never  yet  in  words  !     Though  either  knew 
Not  much  the  speech  their  joy  could  add  iinto. 

Soon  after  this  companionship  began. 
Aside,  one  day.  Squire  Vernon  took  the  man, 
And  said  :     "  There's  somewhat  that  I  wish  to  say 
To  you,  my  friend,  in  ref'rence  to  Miss  Grey. 
I've  noticed  your  attentions  have  become 
Of  late  quite  marked.     I  think  she  might  be  won, 
And  if  you  love  the  gii'l,  as  I  suspect. 
Although  her  friends  may  possibly  object, 
I  hope  and  think  you  still  might  have  success. 
For  when  my  wife  to  her  one  day  expressed 


BROKEW  DREAMS.  173 

The  thought  that  you  would  very  tender  prove 
To  one  you  loved,  as  well  as  kind  and  true, 
And  her  opinion  iirged  her  to  express, 
With  many  blushes,  said,  '  I  think  so ;  yes ! ' 
We  have  with  her  much  influence,  you  know, 
And  you  together  we  were  first  to  throw  ; 
And  if  you  wish  to  win  the  fair  girl's  hand. 
You'll  our  assistance  have.     Dut  understand, 
You  must  not  trifle  with  her ;  recollect 
A  word  from  us  might  lessen  her  respect, 
And  ruin  all  your  prospects.     Be  as  true 
As  in  her  purity  she'll  be  to  you. 
And  you  will  give  her  only  what's  her  due, 
And  have  our  very  kindest  wishes  too." 

"  You  need  not  fear  !  I've  loved  her  all  my  life. 
And  she  shall  be  my  true  and  honored  wife, 
Can  her  consent  be  won.     I  would  not  harm 
My  darling,  sooner  than  this  strong  right  arm 
I'd  thrust  within  that  glowing,  molten  fire. 
I'd  trifle,  think,  with  one  that  I  desire 
A-bove  all  else,  to  make  my  cherished  wife? 
You  need  not  fear ;  I'd  guard  her  with  my  life ; 


174:  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

She's  sacred  as  a  mother  to  her  child ; 
My  love  is  pure,  if  'tis  intense  and  wild." 

With  this  reply  Squire  Vernon  was  content. 
And  on  to  happy  love  their  friendship  went. 
They  drove  and  walked  together,  sometimes  met 
In  Mrs.  Vernon's  parlor,  but  as  yet 
He  seldom  called  to  see  her  at  her  home. 
Although  she  often  wished  it.     Having  known 
Too  well  the  place  he  held  in  people's  minds, 
JTrom  paying  her  attentions  of  the  kind 
That  should  arouse  suspicions  in  her  friends. 
For  long  he  shrank ;  and  'tUl  he  could  depend 
On  Pansy's  constancy,  whate'er  opposed, 
He  felt  unwilling  rashly  to  disclose 
Their  standing  to  each  other,  unto  those 
Who'd  be,  he  knew,  too  likely  to  object. 
And  they  his  motives  surely  would  suspect, 
When  he  to  visit  her  should  once  begiu. 
And  though  much  pleasure  'twould  afforded  him 
To  be  thus  openly  received  by  her. 
Too  much  was  yet  at  stake,  he  felt,  to  stir 
An  opposition  recklessly,  that  might 
The  new-born  hopes  he  cherished  serve  to  blight, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  17; 

And  snatch  his  darling  from  his  eager  grasp. 

And  so  he  waited,  'till  he  felt  his  clasp 

On  her  affections  had  become  secure 

Enough,  her  constancy  to  render  sure. 

And  so  they  dreamed  away  the  summer  hours. 

By  stream  an,d  mead,  in  leafy,  rustic  bowers, 

And  every  path  they  trod  was  strewn  with  flowers. 

But  never  yet  the  "  course  of  love  "  ran  smooth  ! 
And  Pansy  realized  full  soon  the  truth 
That  hers  v/as  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
But  having  many  lessons  in  the  school 
Of  sad  experience  been  taught,  had  learned 
'Twere  best  that  one  should  not  be  always  turned 
By  others'  selfish  wishes  from  the  way  * 

They  like  to  enter ;  and  that  duty  lay 
In  sacrifice  not  only,  but  'twas  true 
As  well,  that  something  to  one's  self  was  due. 
She'd  yielded  much  to  others  in  the  past. 
And  think  of  self  she  felt  'twas  time  at  last. 
She  knew  strong  opposition  to  her  choice 
She  might  expect ;  but  listening  to  the  voice 
That  made  such  music  in  her  loving  heart. 
She  felt  with  all  her  summer  friends  she'dpai't 


176  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

For  him  she  loved  ;  and  thus  herself  prepared 
To  meet  whatever  came.  Nor  v/as  she  spared 
The  dreaded  trial  long. 

Miss  Hattie  May, 
A  friend  most  intimate,  soon  turned  away 
With  scorn  from  her  who  chose  to  exercise 
Her  right  to  act  without  the  sought  advice 
Of  all  her  so-called  friends.     To  give  the  man 
That  loved  her,  both  her  willing  heart  and  hand, 
Kegardless  whether  they  approved  or  not. 
And  so  Miss  May  her  friend's  acquaintance  dropped. 
And  many  others  soon  had  done  the  same. 
But  pained  as  Pansy  felt  to  find  how  vain 
And  worthless  had  the  friendship  proved  of  those 
She  afl  her  life  had  known,  and  e'er  supposed 
Her  true  and  tender  friends,  no  one  would  dream 
She  marked  their  disaifection  ;  for  her  mien 
More  smiling,  careless,  haughty,  profid,  and  gay, 
Had  never  been,  than  in  the  early  days 
Of  their  affected  coolness.     On  her  way 
She  went  as  calmly,  sweetly,  as  if  naught 
.But  purest  joy  her  latest  love  had  brought. 

Her  mother  nothing  said,  until  the  man 
To  visit  Pansy  at  her  home  began  ; 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  177 

Although  she  scarcely  could  in  ignorance  been, 
Of  her  accustomed  walks  and  drives  with  him. 
But  when  she  openly  his  calls  received, 
The  mother  longer  would  not  be  deceived. 
'Twas  getting  serious  at  length,  she  feared. 
And  thought  it  time  that  she  should  interfere, 
Lest  her  attendant,  careful,  patient,  kind, 
She'd  lose,  and  never  such  another  find. 
She  fumed  and  fretted  for  a  little  time. 
Grew  captious  and  impatient  to  extremes ; 
But  Pansy  still  continued  quite  serene — 
Although  surmising  what  the  new  mood  meant — ■ 
And  braced  herself  for  what  she  knew  was  pent 
Behind  that  fro-svning  brow  and  angry  mien. 
And  waited  calmly  for  the  dreaded  scene. 
Ere  many  days  the  pending  tempest  broke. 
And  Mrs,  Grey  with  sneering  manner  spoke : 

"  Pansy,  what  gentleman  was  here  last  eve?  " 

"  Last  eve  ?  oh,  David  Golden,  I  believe  !  " 
And  Pansy  to  the  very  Ups  grew  white, 
And  drew  her  chair  from  out  the  brilliant  light. 

"  What !   David  Golden  ?  that  low  man,  my  dear? 


178  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

What  possibly  could  bring  the  fellow  here  ? 
Or  was  it  Temple  that  he  came  to  see  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  mamma,  his  visit  was  to  me !  " 
Her  tone  was  careless,  though  her  heart  stood  still, 
Then  bounded  madly,  'till  it  seemed  to  fill 
Her  veins  to  bursting. 

"  Youf  "  said  Mrs.  Grey, 
"  And  why  on  you  should  he  be  calling,  pray  ! 
What  can  my  daughter  have  to  say  to  him  ! " 

And  Pansy  answered  calmly,  though  within 
Her  darkened  eyes  an  angry  splendor  flashed. 
And  indignation  in  her  heart  throbbed  fast : 
"  Why  is  it  gentlemen  their  visits  pay 
To  ladies  commoiJy  ?  " 

And  Mrs.  Grey 
With  scorn  returned :  "A  gentleman,  my  dear, 
Might  have  some  reason  for  a  visit  here. 
In  such  a  case  'twould  not  be  strange  at  all ! 
For  gentlemen  on  ladies  often  call 
With  hope,  and  with  intent  to  win  their  hands. 
But  why  the  visits  of  this  low-born  man 
My  daughter  should  receive,  I  must  confess 
I'm  wholly  at  a  loss  to  even  guess." 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  179 

Now  tliis  was  rather  more  than  Pansy's  high 
And  haughty  temper  well  could  brook.     With  eye 
All  fire,  and  angry  tone,  she  made  reply  : 
"  This  oiian — or  him  you've  designated  thus — 
Is  not  by  birth  inferior  to  us, 
As  you  must  know.     And,  strange  as  it  may  be, 
The  motive  for  the  visits  paid  to  me 
Was  what  you  say  you  fail  to  understand : 
The  wish,  intent,  and  hope  to  win  my  hand. 
And  what  is  more,  he's  like  to  have  success ; 
For  when  he  asks  it,  I  shall  answer  '  Yes !  '  " 

"  Indeed !  you  will !  suppose  that  I  object  ?  " 

"  Mamma,  I've  ever  paid  a  due  respect 
To  your  desires  howe'er  they  might  conflict 
With  my  intents  or  wishes.     You'll  admit 
That  many  gentlemen  who  strongly  wished 
To  win  my  love  have  been  by  me  dismissed 
In  consequence  of  your  objections.     So, 
From  past  experience,  I  can  but  know 
Whoever  might  to  me  attentions  pay. 
E'en  though  desii-able  in  every  way, 
By  you  with  favor  would  not  be  received. 
And  though  I  cannot  tell  how  deeply  grieved 


180  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

I  am  at  being  forced  to  disregard 

Your  wishes  in  tliis  matter,  howe'er  hard 

It  may  be,  I  believe  that  something's  due 

To  me,  my  dear  mamma,  no  less  than  you  ; 

And  finding  it  is  useless  to  attempt 

To  please  you  by  my  choice,  'tis  my  intent 

To  please  myself  at  least.     And  when  this  man^ 

As  I  before  have  said,  shall  ask  my  hand, 

I  shall  with  pleasure  gratify  his  wish." 

"  You  shall  not  do  it !   Pansy,  I  insist 
You  see  the  man  no  more  !     Forbid  again 
His  entrance  to  my  house.     Remember,  then, 
T  will  not  have  it !     Do  you  understand  ? 
That  you  should  stoop  to  think  of  such  a  man ! 
What  thus  bewitches  you  I  cannot  tell." 

And  Pansy  answered  firmly :  *'  Very  well ! 
If  here  at  home  he  cannot  visit  me. 
We  elsewhere  surely  shall  each  other  see. 
I'm  quite  resolved  I  wdll  not  give  him  up, 
'Tis  useless  talking !  let  the  matter  drop  !  " 

"  Then  leave  the  room  at  once,  nor  let  me  see 
Your  face  again  to-night.     Send  Ann  to  me." 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  181 

And  Pansy  with  an  aching  heart  obeyed, 
And  felt  for  love  a  heavy  price  she  paid. 
But  still  she  did  not  waver ;  thought  the  right 
Was  on  her  side,  and  hoped  her  mother  might 
In  time  more  reason  exercise,  o'ercome 
Her  strong  aversion  to  her  wedding  one 
Her  heart  had  chosen,  or  at  least  relent 
Sufficiently  to  give  her  own  consent 
To  what  she  could  not  hinder.     But  the  days 
Passed  rapidly  along,  and  ]\Irs.  Grey's 
Ill-temper  did  not  cease  ;  and  she  contrived 
To  make  almost  unbearable  the  life 
Of  her  who  still  with  such  unwearied  care 
To  every  want  administered,  and  spared 
No  efforts  for  her  happiness  and  ease. 
Though  nothing  she  could  do  appeared  to  please. 

And  so  the  moonlight  walks  and  twilight  drives 
Continued,  and  were  all  that  kept  alive 
Sweet  hope  and  courage  in  the  girl's  tried  heart. 
His  tenderness  new  strength  to  act  her  part 
In  life's  stern  daily  battle  gave  to  her ; 
And  petty  trials,  which  so  vexing  were. 
His  love  enabled  her  with  patience  sweet, 
With  kind,  forbearing  gentleness  to  meet. 


182  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

Until  her  nature,  erst  so  wondrous  fine, 
Seemed  growing  rarer,  sweeter,  all  the  time. 

The  village  gossips,  with  suspicious  eyes 
And  shaking  heads,  beheld  the  twilight  drives. 
The  evening  walks,  and  thought  'twere  right  and  wise 
For  them  to  interfere.     Somewhat  surprised 
Was  Pansy  to  receive  from  Mrs.  May 
And  one  or  two  beside,  a  call  one  day 
About  midsummer. 

More  confounded  stiU 
Was  she  when  Mrs.  May  said :  "  Pansy  will, 
I  trust,  excuse  me  if  I  now  refer 
To  matters  which  perchance  may  be  to  her 
Somewhat  unpleasant.     Possibly,  Miss  Grey, 
You  may  not  be  aware  what  people  say 
Of  your  connection  lately  with  a  man 
On  whom  you  scarcely  would  bestow  your  hand. 
And  if  you  sliould  thus  far  yourself  forget, 
It  could  but  cause  you  much  profound  regret. 
None  think,  of  course,  you  mean  to  marry  him. 
And  thus  your  frequent  walks  and  drives  have  been 
A  source  of  much  vmkindly  comment  here. 
And  so  I  thought  a  duty  'twas,  my  dear, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  183 

To  warn  you,  and  prevent  your  taking  steps 
You  might  hereafter  bitterly  regret." 

Miss  Pansy  listened,  but  with  flashing  eye, 
With  haughty  smile,  and  bearing  proud  and  high. 
Her  cheeks'  indignant  flushes  came  and  went. 
And  with  sarcastic  coolness,  calm  contempt. 
Her  voice  rang  clearly,  when  at  last  she  spoke : 

"  Well,  Mrs.  May  !  'tis  greatly  to  be  hoped 
Stern  duty's  dictates  you  will  e'er  obey 
As  readily  as  you  have  done  to-day. 
But,  though  you  doubtless  many  thanks  expect 
From  me  for  so  much  kindness  (?),  I  regi'et 
I'm  quite  incapable  of  gratitude 
To  those  who  thus,  unwarranted,  intrude 
In  matters  even  they,  I  think,  must  own 
Concerns  myself  most  nearly  and  alone. 
Your  power,  too,  you  wholly  overrate. 
When  thinking  any  steps  I  choose  to  take 
May  be  prevented  by  your  kind  (?)  advice. 
But  possibly  you  do  not  realize 
I'm  not  a  child,  and  thus  may  be  supposed 
My  own  afiairs  to  know,  as  well  as  those 


184  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Tliey  scarcely  can  concern.     I'm  able,  yet, 
To  manage  them  myself ;  and  beg  you'll  let 
Them  trouble  you  no  more.     Assured  of  this, 
That  I  shall  doubtless  marry  whom  I  wish, 
Regardless  as  to  who  I  thus  shall  please 
Or  fail  to  gratify.     Your  mind  at  ease 
I  trust  may  be  hereafter.     Jjut,  think  twice 
Ere  meddling  thus  again,  is  my  advice." 

She  rose,  and  bidding  them  "  good-afternoon," 
With  haughty  grace  she  glided  from  the  room. 
And  sending  Ann  to  show  them  to  the  door. 
Felt  much  relieved  the  interview  was  o'er. 
And  as  upstairs  with  proud,  firm  step  she  went. 
Hot  anger,  indignation,  and  contempt. 
In  curling  lip  and  flashing  eye  were  shown. 
But  when  at  last  she  found  herself  alone, 
Her  heart  swelled  high  with  aggravating  pain, 
As  she  reviewed  the  interview  again. 
And  fancied  all  the  hard,  unjust  remarks. 
That  doubtless  had  been  made,  and  which  in  part 
She'd  half  surmised  before,  in  consequence 
Of  studied  coolness  of  her  former  friends. 
She  little  dreamed  that  such  a  thing  to  her 
By  any  chance  wovild  ever  have  occurred. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  185 

And  bitterly  the  proud  girl  writhed  beneath 

The  consciousness  that  such  things  should  be  bx-eathed 

By  quondam  friends  of  her. 

The  path  of  love  , 
Was  not  all  strewn  with  roses,  nor  above 
Did  sunny  skies  at  every  step  bend  down. 
She  felt  that  did  she  win  the  blessed  croAvn 
Of  wedded  happiness,  'twas  but  through  pain 
And  tears  and  grief  the  prize  would  be  attained. 
And  then  she  wondered  if  the  man  she  loved, 
Of  such  a  sacrifice  would  worthy  prove. 
And  just  a  hint  of  doubt  crept  in  her  heart, 
Suggesting  it  were  possible  the  part 
Which  he  was  acting  was  not  quite  sincere ; 
And  that  to  him  she  might  not  be  so  dear 
As  she  had  fancied  :  he  had  never  yet 
The  words  "  I  love  you  "  uttered.     And  forget 
The  character  he  hitherto  had  borne. 
She  sometimes  found  it  difficult ;  and  mourned 
That  her  affections  she  had  placed  at  last. 
On  one  whose  reputation  in  the  past 
Had  not  been  enviable,  to  say  the  least : 
And  though  to  her  he  ever  had  been  pleased 


186  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

To  show  profound  respect,  how  could  she  tell 
But  her  heart  he'd  been  playing  with,  as  well. 
Experience  had  taught  her  to  distrust 
Men's  motives  in  affairs  of  love,  and  thus 
It  were  not  wonderful  if  she  sometimes, 
Within  her  love  and  confidence,  should  find 
The  subtle  poison  of  distrust  had  crept. 

And  so  poor  Pansy,  proud,  but  loving,  wept. 
As  many  others  of  her  sex  have  done. 
Above  the  shattered  idols,  one  by  one 
Torn  from  her  grasp,  to  find  how  much  deceit 
And  heartlessness  the  world  contained,  how  deep 
The  canker  'neath  the  lovely  surface  lay. 
And  from  it  all  with  pain  she  turned  away, 
To  Him,  the  ever  true,  the  ever  kind. 
And  in  Whose  love  she  never  failed  to  find 
A  balm  for  every  woe,  for  every  grief 
A  solace,  comfort,  and  a  sweet  relief. 


BEOKEN    DEEAMS 


BOOK  EIGHTH. 


"Who  would  not  lightly  lose  the  world 
To  keep  such  love  ?  " 


Owen  Merkdith. 


"  These  dear  moments 
Bepay  the  sorrows  of  a  weary  life 
Of  waiting,  fading  hopes.    Thou  lovest  me  !  " 

J.  C.  Heywood. 


Broken  Dreams 


g  0  0  ll     C5  X  0  H  Ij  . 


The  glowing  sunlight  of  an  afternoon 
Far  into  August,  tipped  the  green  festoons 
Of  drooping  vines  on  trelKsed  portico 
With  gleams  of  burnished  gold.     The  brilliant  glow- 
In  fretted  flickers  creeping  through  the  screen 
Of  floating  sprays  of  vivid,  shaded  green, 
Fell  on  a  graceful  figure  sitting  there, 
And  rested  on  her  wealth  of  flowing  hair 
Like  crowns  of  golden  glory.     Pure  and  fair 
And  fresh  and  sweet  as  ever  seemed  the  girl. 
And  happy  smiles  her  rose  lips  often  curled. 


190  BEOKEN  DREAMS. 

As  musingly  hei^  velvet  cheek  she  leaned 

Upon  her  soft  white  hand,  and  brightly  dreamed 

Of  what  the  eve  for  her  might  have  in  store. 

Her  friend's  long  absence  of  two  weeks  or  more,  • 
To-night  would  end  ;  and  she  in  rev'rie  sweet 
Looked  forward  to  the  time  when  they  should  meet ; 
No  shade  of  sadness,  no  forebodings  dark. 
The  gladness  tinted  of  her  loving  heart ; 
No  doixbt  his  joy  would  be  as  deep,  entire, 
At  meeting,  as  would  hers,  or  she  desired. 
How  many  thus  have  waited,  hoped,  believed, 
To  be  at  last  most  cruelly  deceived  ! 

Her  brother.  Temple,  at  her  friend's  request, 
Upon  a  pleasure  tour  some  distance  West, 
Had  his  companion  been ;  and  both  to-night 
The  girl  expected  home ;  and  very  bright 
The  face  with  which  the  coming  evening  train 
Impatiently  was  waited.     But  in  vain 
The  choking  bound  with  which  her  heart  replied 
To  that  prolonged,  shrill  shrieking,  that  implied 
The  longed-for  train's  ajoproach.     A  well-known  step 
At  length  came  up  the  gravelled  walk  that  swept 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  191 

From  gate  to  portico,  and  Pansy  rose 
To  welcome  home  her  brother.     She  supposed 
His  late  companion  also  had  arrived, 
Until  she,  somewhat  later,  had  contrived 
To  carelessly  inquire  if  David  came. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Temple :     "  he  in  Troy  remained. 
Some  matters  to  attend  to.     He'll  be  down 
To-morrow,  doubtless." 

Glancing  swiftly  'round 
At  her,  he  then  as  quickly  turned  away, 
And  hesitatingly  went  on  :  "  But  say  ! 
Do  you  care  anything  about  the  man  ? 
For  if  you  do,  I'm  certain  that  you  can 
No  longer,  when  I  tell  you  what  he  said 
While  we  were  absent." 

Pansy  dropped  her  head, 
But  made  no  answer,  while  with  painful  dread 
Her  heart  sank  lower  still.     Had  she  to  fear 
Another  cruel  crushing  of  the  dear 
And  cherished  dreamings  of  her  tender  heart  ? 
And  could  the  man  she  loved  a  traitor's  part 
Have  acted,  and  resolved  the  fatal  blow 
Which  should  her  hope  and  trust  in  him  lay  low, 
To  deal  himself?     He  surely  could  but  know 


192  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

That  anything  he  might  to  Temple  say 
Would  he  to  hei'  repeat  without  delay. 
She  thought  with  feelings  of  profound  despair, 
"  Oh,  what  new  trial  have  I  now  to  bear  ?  " 

But  Temple  soon  continued :  "  When  one  eve 
Of  you  we'd  been  conversing,  he  believed, 
He  said,  that  you  might  easily  be  won ; 
Too  easily,  in  fact,  for  any  one 
At  all  fastidious  to  e'er  aspire 
To  such  an  honor.     Though  he'd  no  desire 
To  win  your  hand — he  boastingly  went  on — 
He  did  not  doubt  but  he  to-morrow  morn 
Might  lead  you  to  the  altar,  if  he  chose. 
Nor  did  he  think  you  better  than  were  those 
Who  made  much  less  pretension ;  that  a  sham 
Was  your  religion,  and  that  any  man 
Could  sway  you  as  he  liked." 

"  And  you  stood  by 
And  heard  your  sister  thus  insulted  ?  " 

"I? 
Why,  what  could  J^  do  ?  "     Temple  made  reply. 
"  I  told  him  sharply  we'd  enough  of  that, 
And  were  I  but  a  man,  he'd  take  it  back. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  193 

He  only  lauglied  at  me,  and  said  :  '  'Tis  true ! 
And  if  you  were  a  man,  what  could  you  do  ? ' 
*  Do  ?  '  I  exclaimed ;  '  I'd  grind  you  in  the  dust ! 
You  would  not  dare  insult  my  sister  thus, 
If  not  aware  she'd  no  one  to  defend 
Her  honor  from  a  vile  pretended  friend's 
Aspersions,  save  a  boy ! '     But  let  him  wait 
A  year  or  two,  and  if  I  don't  mistake, 
He'll  get  with  compound  int'rest  all -his  pay! 
Well,  after  that,  of  course,  I  could  not  stay, 
And  so  I  left  when  we  arrived  at  Troy. 
That's  why  I  came  alone." 

Although  the  boy 
Had  spoken  angrUy,  he  kept  his  face 
Averted  wholly  from  his  sister's  gaze. 
She  did  not  notice  it ;  and  when  at  last 
She  managed,  scarcely  audibly,  to  gasp : 
"  Well,  Temple,  that  will  do  ;  please  go  away 
And  see  mamma ;  she  wants  you,  I  dare  say." 
Without  a  glance  at  her  the  boy  obeyed. 

The  picture  of  despair  poor  Pansy  looked. 
For  while  her  brother  spoke  the  blood  forsook 
Her  cheeks  and  lips,  and  seemed  to  lie  congealed 
Around  her  bursting  heart ;  her  lips  close-sealed, 


194  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Her  eyes  were  wide-dilated,  with  a  stare 

Of  utter,  pitiful,  and  blank  despair. 

Oh  this,  she  felt,  was  more  than  she  could  bear ! 

Insulted,  tortured — oh,  what  had  she  done, 

To  be  thus  cruelly  maligned,  by  one 

She'd  loved  with  all  her  heart  ?     Too  well  he  knew 

That  not  a  word  of  what  he  said  was  true. 

She'd  borne  a  deal  of  agony  before. 

But  nothing  ever  tha^;  her  heartstrings  tore 

Like  this.     Resentment,  anger,  all  was  lost 

In  overwhelming  anguish. 

What  had  cost 
This  fatal  love  of  hers  ?     Her  mother's  smile. 
Whose  loss  her  home  made  wretched  all  the  whiles 
Her  friends'  regard,  acquaintances'  respect. 
Herself  much  grievous  pain,  and,  harder  yet 
To  bear,  a  blow  like  this,  which  seemed  in  twain 
To  rend  her  tortured  heart.     How  foolish,  vain, 
Had  proved  her  love  and  confidence  in  him  ; 
How  cruelly  betrayed  her  trust"  had  been — 
Betrayed  in  one  fell  moment ;  dashed  to  earth 
Without  an  instant's  warning  ! 

Little  worth 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  195 

Did  life  look  then  to  this  poor  stricken  girl, 
But  cold,  and  heartless,  utterly,  the  world. 
The  years  had  brought  her  nothing  but  regret 
And  grief  and  disappointment.     Why  expect 
The  future  aught  beside  to  have  in  store? 
In  love  or  friendship  she'd  believe  no  more. 
Not  even  her  elastic  heart  could  rise 
Above  a  shock  like  this.     Oh,  if  her  eyes 
She  could  but  close  no  more  to  open  them. 
Until  she  stood  where  griefs  and  sorrows  end, 
Until  her  feet  the  stream  of  Death,  had  crossed. 
And  reached  the  shore  where  earthly  pains  are  lost. 

Hope  for  the  first  time  seemed  entirely  dead ! 
Who  could  she  trust  ?  where  lay  her  weary  head 
Save  on  her  Saviour's  bosom?     He  alone 
Was  true  and  tender.     Only  He  had  shown 
Compassion  for  her  griefs — had  e'er  remained 
To  all  He  promised  faithful.     Ne'er  in  vain 
Had  she  to  Him  for  love  and  comfort  gone. 
And  He  was  still  her  friend.     His  arm  so  strong 
And  tender  still  was  'round  her  to  sustain. 
His  smile  still  held  a  balm  to  soothe  her  pain. 
Was  her  religion  nothing  but  a  sham  ? 
What  else  but  that  could  hushed  to  partial  calm 


196  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  troubled  waters  of  her  tortured  soul  ? 
What  else  her  bleeding,  sinkmg  heart  uphold  ? 
What  would  she  been  without  it  in  the  day 
When  all  her  earthly  props  are  torn  away, 
Her  hopes  all  dead,  and  nothing  left  but  that  ? 

With  scarce  a  change  of  posture,  Pansy  sat 
Where  Temple  left  her,  till  the  darkness  fell, 
And  hid  the  gentle  bosom's  troubled  swell, 
The  strained  but  tearless  eyes,  the  poor,  white  cheeks, 
The  lips  compressed  and  pale.     With  falt'ring  feet 
And  trembling  limbs  at  last  she  crept  tipstairs, 
And  fought  the  whole  night  through  with  sharp  despair. 

The  morning  found  her  calm,  but  pale  as  death. 
Lai'ge  rings  her  eyes  encircled,  and  her  breath 
Unconsciously  was  interspersed  with  sighs, 
Which  seemed  from  her  o'erburdened  heart  to  rise 
With  each  perturbed  pulsation.     It  was  sad 
To  see  the  face  but  yesterday  so  glad. 
Now  bearing  marks  of  such  acute  distress. 
Eacli  duty  was  performed  with  weariness. 
And  how  the  moments  di-agged,  no  one  could  guess. 

But  when  the  summer's  purple  twilight  came, 
And  with  it  thundered  in  the  evening  train, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  197 

Poor  Pansy,  gazing  tlirough  the  half-shut  blind, 

Saw  striding  by  the  man  she'd  deemed  so  kind, 

So  worthy  of  her  tenderness  and  trust. 

But  who  had  bowed  her  to  the  very  dust. 

And  dealt  her  loving  heart  the  hardest  blow 

It  ever  had  to  bear — the  tears  so  slow 

In  coming  to  her  outraged  heart's  relief 

Pushed  forth  in  torrents,  as  with  bitter  grief 

She  saw  the  man  glance  up  from  time  to  time 

While  passing  by,  as  if  in  hopes  to  find 

Some  lovely  face  a  welcome  smiling  there, 

And  did  not  dream  what  utter,  blank  despair, 

Was  graven  on  the  countenance  that  bent 

Behind  the  screening  blind — the  anguish  sent 

By  him  and  him  alone.     How  did  he  dare 

To  look  that  way  with  such  a  smiling  stare, 

As  if  he  deemed  a  greeting  waited  there  ! 

How  could  he  show  that  proud,  but  treach'rous  face 

To  her  he'd  just  so  grievously  outraged ! 

Or  was  there  some  mistake  ?  and  she  was  not 
Herself  deceiving  in  the  sudden  thought 
'That  when  he  failed  to  find  the  welcome  sought, 
A  shade-  of  disappointment  overspread 
The  smiling  face,  as  he  with  bended  head 


198  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Passed  slowly  onward.     No !  the  man  was  base, 

Unkind,  untrue  !     His  tenderness  of  face 

And  manner,  but  a  treacherous  disguise, 

A  lure  to  blind  the  dazzled,  trusting  eyes 

Of  his  confiding  victim !     She'd  believe 

No  more  in  liim,  who  once  had  thus  deceived. 

Insulted,  and  maligned  her.     He  should  see 

That  not  so  easy  to  be  won  was  she. 

As  he  had  dared  to  fancy !     That  her  hand 

Could  not  be  quickly  gained  by  any  man 

Who  chose  to  sue  for  it. 

And  yet  her  heart 
Cried  bitterly,  "  I  love  him !  must  we  part  ? 
Oh  why,  my  darling,  could  you  not  be  true. 
And  love  your  Pansy  as  sbe's  worshipped  you  ?  " 
Then  wondered  why  it  was  she  could  not  win 
Abiding,  true  affection !     Why  had  been 
Her  fairest  hopes  all  blighted  !     Was  there  naught 
About  her  worthy  of  the  love  she  sought  ? 
No  wanning  charm  or  beauty  in  her  face. 
And  in  her  manner  no  attractive  grace  ? 
She  crossed  the  room  and  paused  before  the  glass, 
To  seek  an  answer  to  the  questions  asked. 


BBOKEIT  DREAMS.  ,199 

The  face  and  figure  of  a  fair  young  girl 
Looked  back  at  her,  but  -witli  dishevelled  curls 
The  head  was  crowned,  the  red  and  swollen  eyes 
Were  veiled  with  blinding  tears,  whose  scarlet  dyes 
Were  painted  on  the  fair  soft  cheeks  as  well. 
While  with  a  constant  and  tumultuous  swell 
The  gentle  bosom  heaved.     She  turned  away, 
Despaii-ingly  convinced  no  witch'ry  lay 
In  such  a  picture  as  the  one  her  gaze 
Then  rested  on. 

And  so  the  weary  days 
Passed  slowly  onward,  bringing  slight  relief 
To  Pansy's  heart  so  crushed  with  troubled  grief. 
They  had  not  met  as  yet !  she  tried  her  best 
To  him  avoid,  and  with  complete  success. 
She  saw  him  very  frequently  pass  by — 
With  bowed  head  lately,  and  averted  eye ; 
And  to  herself  she  was  obliged  to  own 
He  looked  most  wretched,  grave  and  sad  had  grown ! 
She  wondered  did  his  course  much  pleasure  bring. 

Her  friends,  the  Vernons,  had  the  previous  spring 
The  place  adjoining  purchased,  and  had  been 
Some  months  residing  there ;  when  running  iri 


200  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

One  afternoon,  the  lady  found  her  friend 
So  sad  and  downcast,  she  determined  then 
To  try  and  ascertain  wliat  had  of  late 
<rhe  poor  girl  troubled  so.     Nor  did  it  take 
A  deal  of  strong  persuasion  on  her  side, 
To  lead  Miss  Pansy  in  her  to  confide. 

With  trembling  lip  and  tone  the  tale  was  told  ; 
And  Mrs.  "Vernon  listened  to  the  whole 
In  silence,  then  replied :  "  There's  some  mistake, 
I'm  certain.  Pansy  !     David  would  not  make, 
E'en  though  he  felt  them,  such  remarks  of  you, 
To  any  one,  much  less  to  one  he  knew 
Would  speedily  repeat  them.     Temple  must 
His  meaning  have  mistaken ;  and  I  trust 
You'll  find  it  so  ere  long.     I  chance  to  know 
His  sentiments  are  quite  unlike  to  those ! 
He  told  my  husband,  many  months  ago, 
That  he  had  loved  you,  Pansy,  all  jovx  life, 
And  meant  to  try  and  win  you  for  his  wife. 
Had  never  cared  for  any  one  but  you, 
And  that  his  love  was  piire  as  deep  and  true. 
You  say  he's  ever  shown  you  true  respect, 
And  can  you  think  that  he  would  take  a  step 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  201 

He  could  but  know  would  shut  him  from  your  heart, 

And  be  the  means  of  causing  you  to  part 

At  once,  and  that  forever  ?     You  will  find 

There's  been  an  error  somewhere  ;  and  in  time 

The  wrong  will  all  be  righted — soon,  my  dear, 

I  hope  and  trust.     And  David,  too,  I  fear 

Is  scarcely  less  unhappy  than  are  you  ! 

I've  often  noticed,  for  a  week  or  two. 

He  seemed  much  vexed  and  troubled  ;  trust  him  still ! 

You'll  find  him  worthy  yet,  I'm  sure  you  will  I  " 

When  Mrs.  Vernon  reached  her  home,  she  found 
The  man  was  there ;  and  said  to  him,  "  Go  'round 
And  see  Miss  Grey !  she  wants  you,  I  beheve ; 
You'll  find  her  all  alone ! " 

And  taking  leave 
At  once,  her  bidding  gladly  he  obeyed. 
On  entering  he  found  her  fair  head  laid 
In  an  abandonment  of  troubled  grief 
Upon  her  arms,  which  on  the  table-leaf 
Were  resting  carelessly.     The  drooping  form, 
Despairing  posture,  falling  tears,  and  storm 
Of  sobs  which  shook  her  bosom,  to  the  warm 
And  tender  heart  of  him  who  loved  her,  seemed 
Most  touchingly  pathetic ;  and  with  mien 
9* 


202  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Of  troubled  sympathy  a  chair  he  placed 

Close  at  her  side,  and  drawing  round  her  waist 

His  arm,  said  tenderly  :  "  Why,  Pansy,  dear, 

What  is  it  pains  you  thus  ?     What  mean  those  tears  ? 

Will  you  not  tell  the  one  that  loves  you  best 

What  'tis  that  causes  you  so  much  distress  ? 

You  know  I  love  you,  don't  you  ?  tell  me  then 

What  grieves  my  darling  !  "  and  his  face  he  bent 

Close  to  the  poor  girl's  flushed  and  tear-wet  cheek. 

"  What  is  it,  love  ?  "  he  whispered :  "  Pansy,  speak  !  " 

She  shrank  from  him,  and  pushed  away  his  head. 
"  Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  what  you  said 
Of  me  to  Temple,  while  you  both  were  gone  ? 
And  after  having  been  so  foully  wronged, 
Think  you  that  in  your  love  I  could  believe, 
Or  be  again  so  easily  deceived  ?  " 

"  Why,  Pansy,  what  is  this  ?     I've  said  of  you 
No  word  but  what  I've  felt  was  sweetly  true ; 
Said  naught  to  which  you,  even,  could  object. 
For  though  'tis  true  I  scarcely  dare  expect 
My  love  for  you  can  ever  be  returned. 
An  honest  passion  though  it  may  be  spurned, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  203 

Should  cause  respect  or  pity,  not  offence. 

And  though  you  cannot  love  me,  we  may  friends 

Be  yet,  assuredly.     Your  brother  may 

My  words  misstated  !     What  did  Temple  say  ?  " 

In  Pansy's  heart  a  gleam  of  comfort  crept — 
A  hope  he  might  prove  faithful  even  yet, 
And  all  these  heavy  clouds  be  swept  away, 
Her  night  of  sorrow  turned  to  perfect  day. 
His  words  to  her  so  opposite  had  been 
To  those  her  brother  quoted,  as  from  him 
Proceeding,  that  there'd  surely  been  mistake. 
She  could  but  feel ;  and  so  began  to  state 
Exactly  what  had  Temple  said. 

All  through 
He  heard  her,  then  exclaimed :  "  It  is  not  true  ! 
The  whole  of  it  is  false  from  first  to  last ! 
No  wonder,  love,  that  you  for  some  time  past 
Have  thus  avoided  me.     Were  I  so  base, 
Do  you  suppose  I'd  dare  to  show  my  face 
To  one  I'd  wronged  so  cruelly  ?     JBelieve, 
I  never  could  my  darling  thus  have  grieved  ! 
When  we  of  you  were  speaking,  late  one  eve, 
I  inadvertently  my  love  betrayed  ; 
But  saw  at  once  a  sad  mistake  I'd  made ; 


204:  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

For  Temple  grew  right  angry,  and  declared 
I  should  not  marry  you.     I  would  not  dare 
To  iliink  of  you,  he  said,  were  he  a  man, 
And  never  should  attempt  to  win  your  hand. 
I  laiTghed  at  him,  and  asked  what  he  could  do. 
'  He'd  let  me  know  ! '  he  said.     He  had  with  you 
Some  influence  yet,  he  fancied,  and  if  not. 
His  mother  had  authority,  he  thought. 
I  deemed  it  probable  that  he'd  attempt 
My  visiting  his  sister  to  prevent ; 
But,  though  I  hardly  hoped  your  hand  to  win, 
I  did  not  think  that  you'd  be  swayed  by  him. . 
But  when  on  my  return  I  failed  to  see 
My  darling  at  the  gate  awaiting  me, 
And  day  by  day  passed  slowly  on,  without 
A  sight  of  her  I  loved,  I  did  not  doubt 
But  having  heard  my  wishes,  you  desired 
To  show  me  I'd  presumed,  when  I  aspired 
To  win  you  for  my  wife.     How  pained  I  felt 
At  being  from  your  presence  thus  expelled. 
At  having  all  my  cherished  hopes  prove  naught 
,But  empty  dreams,  at  losing  what -I  sought — 
The  only  woman  e'er  I  wished  to  wed, 
The  heart  for  many  years  I've  coveted — 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  205 

How  dark  my  future  seemed  at  once  zo  grow, 
How  bitterly  I  felt  my  hope's  o'erthrow, 
I'll  not  attempt  to  say. 

"  I  cannot  tell 
When  I've  not  loved  you  tenderly  and  well  1 
Since  first  I  saw  you,  then  a  little  girl, 
You've  been  the  dearest  object  which  the  world 
Contained  for  me.     And  though  I  never  deemed 
You  covld  care  aught  for  me,  you  cannot  dream 
What  anguish  I've  endured  when  I  have  seen 
My  dear  one  wooed  by  those  I  could  not  doubt 
Would  be  by  her  accepted.     And  without 
A  chance  of  competition  for  the  prize 
Continually  before  my  longing  eyes, 
Had  calmly  to  look  on  and  see  the  palm 
Borne  off  in  triumph  by  some  worthier  man. 
And  after  this,  perhaps,  dear,  you  can  guess 
What  I  have  not  the  power  to  express  : 
The  joy  I  felt  to  have  you  at  my  side. 
In  those  sweet  moments  of  our  first,  glad  ride. 
A  joy,  too,  that  increased,  day  after  day, 
,  Until  a  few  weeks  since  I  went  away. 
Oh,  tell  me,  Pansy,  you  believe  me  row ! 
Nor  turn  away  from  me  when  I  avow 


206  BROKEN  DBEAM8. 

I  love  you  madly,  sweetly,  as  my  life  ; 
My  dearest,  will  you  be  my  loving  wife  ?  " 

He  took  her  liand — nor  did  tlie  girl  resist ; 
And  turned  tlie  face  averted  toward  his. 
No  answer  did  he  need  but  what  was  traced 
Most  eloquently  on  that  April  face. 
Tears  gemmed  the  heavy,  drooping  lashes  still ; 
With  crystal  drops  the  violet  eyes  were  filled, 
But  smiles  were  dancing  in  their  purple  depths, 
And  curving  lips  that  trembled  even  yet. 
A  happy  flush  was  on  the  tear-wet  cheeks, 
Sent  thither  by  her  heart's  triumphant  beat; 
And  over  all  a  witching  radiance  shone, 
Which  happy  love  could  lighted  there  alone. 

A  moment  did  the  man  who  loved  her  gaze 
Upon  the  tearful  and  sunshiny  face, 
And  then  in  tones  that  trembled,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Oh  Pansy  !  can  it  be  that  not  in  vain 
My  love  on  you  is  lavished  ?     Is  it  true 
That  I  at  last  may  hope  I'm  loved  by  you, 
My  own,  my  chosen  ?     Life  has  nothing  more 
To  ofier — naught  beside  so  sweet  in  store, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  207 

As  Pansy's  trust  and  fond  affection.     Oh ! 
What  joy  it  gives  tome  you  cannot  know. 
Filled  to  the  jewelled  brim's  my  blessed  cup, 
And  this  dear  moment  joyfully  makes  up 
For  all  the  pain  and  longing  of  the  past. 
And  so,  my  darling,  I  am  loved  at  last ! 
God  bless  you,  dear !  " 

And  in  his  arms  he  clasped 
The  yielding  form,  and  on  the  smiling  lips 
He  softly  pressed  his  glad  betrothal  kiss. 
And  Pansy  laid  her  head  against  his  breast. 
With  feelings  of  divine  and  perfect  rest. 
At  last  she  loved — ^was  loved  !     The  semblance  sweet 
No  longer  in  her  heart  did  faintly  beat. 
But  life's  grand  passion,  tender  and  complete, 
In  all  its  sweetness,  purity,  and  strength, 
Was  reigning  there  triumphantly  at  length ! 


We  will  not  on  that  first  glad  hour  intrude, 
But  let  it  be  a  silent  interlude 
Between  the  changeful  pseans  of  the  past. 
So  sad  at  times,  triumphant  at  the  last. 
And  all  the  melody  of  time  to  come. 
Which  shall  from  their  united  hearts  be  rung. 


BROKEN    DREAMS. 


BOOK  NINTH. 


'I  never  thought  to  know  what  I  have  known — 
The  rapture,  clear,  of  being  loved  by  you. 
I  never  thought  within  my  heart  to  own 
One  wish  so  blest  that  you  should  share  it  too." 

Owen  Mehedith. 


"  In  life's  delight,  in  death's  dismav, 
In  storm  and  sunshine,  night  and  day, 
In  health,  in  sickness,  in  decay, 
Here  and  hereafter,  I  am  thine." 


Longfellow. 


Broken  Dreams 


§  0  0  Ii    p  X  It  Hj 


In  misty  splendor  sped  the  autumn  days, 
To  those  who  lingered  in  the  witching  maze 
Of  love's  late-entered  paths.     New  glory  crowned 
The  mountain-tops,  and  from  the  skies  bent  down, 
And  all  the  summer's  dying  loveliness 
Seemed  blushing  in  the  rosy-tinted  dress 
With  which  a  happy  love  all  objects  robes. 
Through  tribulation  had  their  cherished  hopes 
Become  at  length  fulfilled.     No  shadow  dimmed 
Tlic  confidence  that  had  through  trial  been 
Developed,  and  securely  sealed,  as  deep 
And  strong  and  perfect ;  trust,  entire  and  sweet. 
Filled  both  their  hearts. 


212  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  tlius  the  autumn  passed ; 
The  \\dnter  fleetly  sped,  and  spring  at  last 
Awoke  the  sleeping  earth,  and  gay ly  dressed 
All  Nature  with  her  robes  of  loveliness 
And  garlands  of  the  fairest,  sweetest  flowers. 
And  then  poor  Pansy  sank  beneath  the  power 
Of  that  dread  scourge,  diphtheria  !     The  hours 
So  full  of  pain  dragged  wearily,  until 
The  time  when  she  intended  to  fulfil 
Her  plighted  vows  to  him  she  dearly  loved 
At  last  was  nearly  reached.     Her  strength  had  proved 
Sufficient  to  her  enemy  expel. 
Although  she  still  was  very  far  from  well. 
Her  friends  in  vain  endeavored  to  induce 
The  girl  her  marriage  to  defer.     No  use 
They  found  were  their  entreaties.     She  was  stiU 
Determined,  at  all  hazards,  to  fulfil 
The  terms  of  their  engagement  at  the  time 
Before  decided  on.     The  stronger  muad 
And  will,  as  ever,  triumphed  in  the  end. 
And  Pansy  had  her  way  in  spite  of  friends. 

Fair  dawned  the  bridal  morning,  late  in  June, 
Brilliant  with  sunlight,  radiant  with  bloom 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  213 

Of  countless  flowers,  which  through  the  shaded  rooms 

With  every  breeze  sent  breaths  of  rich-perfume. 

And  "waiting  for  the  coming  of  the  man 

On  whom  that  morning  she'd  bestow  her  hand, 

Alone  within  her  room,  she  stood  before 

Her  mirror  critically  looking  o'er 

Her  handsome  trav'ling  toilet — in  which  guise 

She'd  leave  behind  her  maidenhood,  and  rise 

To  wifehood's  higher  dvities — here  and  there 

Adjusting  folds  or  ribbons,  with  a  care 

As  grave  as  it  was  graceful,  while  her  fair, 

Still  vmgloved  hands,  on  Avhich  the  ring  of  troth 

Was  gleaming  with  a  lustre  bright  and  soft, 

Perceptibly  were  trembling  with  fatigue, 

So  frail  was  yet  her  strength.     Her  fair,  soft  cheeks 

Were  white  as  was  the  filmy,  costly  lace 

Which  shaded  throat  and  hands  and  lovely  face. 

Her  dress  of  lavender  became  her  well. 

And  gracefully  its  heavy,  rich  folds  fell 

Around  the  fragile  form.     She  looked,  indeed, 

In  no  respect  less  lovely,  than  when  cheeks 

And  lips  were  flushed  with  rosy  health's  carmine. 

Which  bounded  through  her  veins  like  riiby  wine. 


214  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

At  least  so  thinks  the  man  that  enters  now 
With  smiling  lips,  serene  and  beaming  brow, 
And  draws  within  his  arms  the  lovely  girl. 
Alike  regardless  of  her  flowing  cnrls, 
Her  crushing  laces,  disarranging  dress, 
And  whispers  as  her  lips  his  kisses  press : 
"  My  bride,  my  Pansy !  blessings  on  you,  dear, 
For  giving  me  the  right  to  hold  you  here. 
My  own,  my  wife.     I  never  thought  to  know 
Such  happiness  as  you  to-day  bestow 
On  one  whose  every  heart-beat  has  for  years 
Been  only,  love,  for  you ;  who  finds  his  fears 
All  merged  in  hope's  fulfilment,  sweet,  entire. 
And  gratified  his  every  fond  desire. 
I  never  thought  to  know  the  happiness 
Of  holding  thus  my  darling  to  my  breast, 
And  knowing  all  my  love  to  be  returned. 
That  in  her  heart  an  answering  passion  bums. 
That  I'm  her  chosen  out  of  all  the  world, 
That  all  my  own  is  this  dear  little  girl. 
Look  up,  my  Heart's-ease  !   does  this  hour  to  you 
Give  equal  happiness,  as  deep  and  true  ? 
Kiss  me,  my  wife,  and  say  you  love  me  too." 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  215 

He  turned  her  face  to  his.     No  vivid  bloom 
The  fair  cheeks  wanted  then,  but  dimpled  soon 
By  saucy  smiles  that  parted  roguish  lips, 
As  she  from  his  embrace  adroitly  slipped. 
Exclaiming,  "  Mr.  Golden,  you've  begun 
Too  early  to  command  !  the  deed's  not  done 
That  gives  to  you  the  right.     I'm  Pansy  Grey, 
And  have  not  promised  yet  that  I'll  obey. 
See  how  you've  disarranged  my  pretty  dress, 
You  naughty  boy  !  " 

He  laughed  and  nearer  pressed, 
But  she  with  hands  extended  waved  him  off. 
And  though  her  eyes  with  love's  glad  light  were  soft. 
Severely  she  continued :  "  Take  that  chair, 
And  to  again  approach  me  do  not  dare. 
See  how  you've  crushed  my  laces,  mussed  my  hair. 
And  disarranged  my  ribbons." 

"  Never  mind," 
He  laughed,  "  since  I  have  given,  you  will  find, 
To  you  as  well  a  most  becoming  bloom, 
And  you  can  rectify  all  damage  soon." 

The  bonnet  was  removed,  the  shining  curls 
Adjusted  'till  they  satisfied  the  girl, 


216  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  laces  smoothed,  the  ribbons  rearranged. 
And  here  and  there  a  heavy  fold  was  changed, 
And  then,  her  toilet  once.again  complete, 
She  sank  exhausted  in  the  nearest  seat. 
And  drawing  on  her  gloves  awaited  there 
The  summons  to  the  pai-lors  to  repair. 

A  half  hour  later  in  the  rooms  below. 
Whose  close-shut  blinds  subdued  the  golden  glow 
Of  summer's  brightest  sunlight,  and  whose  air 
"Was  heavy  with  the  breath  of  flowers  there 
In  sweet  profusion  scattered,  was  a  small, 
Attentive  group,  and  in  the  midst  of  all, 
There  stood  a  manly  figure  strong  and  tall, 
With  one  of  girlish  Kghtness  at  his  side  ; 
And  as  he  took  the  fair  hand  of  the  bride. 
And  placed  thereon  the  circlet  that  should  bind 
The  two  together  through  all  coming  time. 
In  bands  of  perfect  love  that  casts  out  fear. 
Upon  the  hush'ed  air,  full,  and  deep,  and  clear. 
The  man's  voice  rang,  as  he  with  head  bent  low. 
And  reverential  manner,  soft  and  slow 
Repeated  :  "  With  this  ring  I  wed  thee  now. 
With  all  my  worldly  goods  I  thee  endow. 
Through  Father,  g-on,  and  Holy  Ghost.     Amen  !  " 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  217 

They  knelt !     The  man  of  God  commended  them 
To  his  great  Master's  kind,  protecting  care, 
And  prayed  that  blessings  on  them  he'd  not  sjpare. 

Then  rising,  came  the  solemn  last  command : 
"  What  God  hath  joined  together,  let  no  man 
Asunder  part."     "  I  name  thee  man  and  wife  I  " 
And  they  were  one  for  all  their  future  life. 

As  David  turned  to  seal  his  marriage  vows. 

He  whispered  low :  "  The  deed's  accomplished  now, 

And  you  no  longer  are  Miss  Pansy  Grey. 

You've  promised,  love,  your  husband  to  obey. 

And  thus  I  seal  my  rights  !  " 

He  turned  away. 

Congratulations  followed.     Mrs.  Grey, 

Still  nursing  her  displeasure,  coldly  kissed 

The  trembling  lips  her  daughter  gave,  and  wished 

With  formal  coolness  that  she  might  have  joy. 

Poor  Pansy's  pleasure  dimmed,  and  she  employed 

Her  utmost  force  of  will  her  tears  to  check. 

And  not  to  heed  the  bitter  pain  which  swept 

All  through  her  loving  heart,  and  in  an  hour 

When  happiness  should  been  the  ruling  power. 
10 


218  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  carriage  soon  appeared,  and  side  by  side 
Were  seated  speedily  the  groom  and  bride. 
The  horses  bounded  off  'mid  laughing  cheers 
And  gay  farewells,  and  smiles,  a  few  bright  tears, 
And  thus  together,  they  two,  hand  in  hand, 
Their  wedded  pilgrimage  of  life  began. 


BEOKEI^    DEEAMS 


BOOK  TENTH. 


'  God  calls  our  loved  ones,  but  wo  lose  not  wholly 

What  He  hath  given : 
They  live  on  earth  in  thought  and  deed  as  truly 
As  in  His  heaven. 

J.  G.  WHrmER. 


"Then  happy  those — since  each  must  drain 
His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain — 
Then  happy  those  beloved  of  Heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given. 
Whoso  lenient  sorrows  find  relief, 
Whose  joys  are  chastened  by  their  griefs." 

Sm  WALTER  Scott. 


Broken  Dreams 


0  0  II     ®^  ^  Jt  f  1^  ♦ 


A  WEEK  passed  on !  and  late  one  afternoon, 
A  carriage  reached  tlie  gate,  and  Pansy  soon 
Was  in  her  mother's  arms.     Their  bridal  tour 
To  where  our  coimtry's  pride,  Niagara,  showers 
Its  seething  waters  o'er  the  massive  rocks 
Far  down  the  dizzy  height,  was  quickly  stopped 
At  one  day's  journey 'send,  by  Pansy's  strength  ' 
Becoming  still  more  frail;  and  they,  at  length, 
Of  her  ability  to  carry  out 
Their  pleasant  plans  and  wishes,  having  doubt. 
Their  faces  homeward  turned.     And  thus  her  dreams 
Which  erst  so  sure  of  glad  fulfilment  seemed, 


222  BROKEN  BREAMS. 

Again  were  broken,  and  she  reached  her  home 
With  faltering  step,  white  cheeks,  and  frequent  moan 
Of  irritating  pain.     She  should  have  known 
Her  strength  was  not  sufficient  to  endure 
So  much  exertion  as  would  be  insured 
By  wedding  preparations,  and  the  tour 
Of  many  days'  duration.     For  a  time, 
Excitement  and  her  strength  of  will  and  mind 
Sustained  her ;  but  when  once  the  deed  was  done 
Which  made  herself  and  him  she  loved  both  one. 
The  tension  of  her  mind  and  nerves  relaxed, 
And  all  her  former  weakness  rushing  back, 
Agaia  prostrated  her. 

The  summer  long, 
The  dire  disease  still  held  her  in  his  strong, 
Eelentless  grasp.     And  Pansy  came  to  be 
A  shadow  of  her  former  self:  but  she, 
Or  day  or  night  no  care  or  tenderness 
That  watchful  love  could  offer  or  suggest, 
E'er  wanted :  while  she  thanked  the  gracious  Power 
That  gave  her  such  a  friend,  and  in  an  hour 
When  most  she  needed  care  that  only  one 
Who  loved  her  could  bestow.     What  she'd  have  done 


BROKEN  DEEAM8.  223 

Without  lier  husband's  arm  on  wliicli  to  rest, 

Without  his  kind  and  careful  tenderness,  . 

I  do  not  know !     She  must  have  suffered  much 

Tor  want  of  loving  watchfulness,  and  such 

Attentions  as  her  state  of  health  required. 

And  which  were  given  by  one  who'd  long  desired 

No  higher  earthly  blessing  than  the  right 

To  shield  his  love  through  all  the  storms  that  might 

Hereafter  beat  on  her  defenceless  head. 

That  right  at  last  was  his  ;  a  few  words  said 

One  golden  morning  in  the  month  of  June, 

Had  given  him  the  precious,  longed-for  boon 

Of  cherishing  in  sickness  or  in  health. 

Through  storm  or  svmshine,  poverty  or  wealth, 

This  tender  object  of  a  life-long  love. 

Begun  on  earth,  but  sealed  in  Heaven  above. 

The  trust  he  sought,  and  now  at  length  possessed, 
Was  guarded  with  the  utmost  tenderness. 
And  care  untiring,  love  that  never  dimmed. 
That  grew  more  strong  and  perfect,  as  within 
His  tender  ai-ms  he  held  the  fragile  form. 
And  gazing  on  the  lovely  face  so  wan. 
The  cheeks  so  thin,  the  large,  dark-circled  eyes. 
He  felt  his  hold  upon  the  precious  prize 


224  BBOKEN  DREAMS. 

That  he'd  so  lately  -won,  was,  oh,  so  slight, 
That  in  that  life  so  frail  dwelt  all  the  light 
And  joy  and  happiness  of  Ms  poor  life, 
Which  would  to  him  be  worthless  if  deprived 
Of  this  one  priceless  treasure. 

He'd  not  learned 
To  look  above  in  trial ;  or  to  turn 
To  One  for  comfort  who  will  ne'er  deny 
To  poor  weak-hearted  mortals,  who  apply 
To  Him  for  solace  in  the  time  of  grief. 
The  truest,  sweetest,  most  entire  relief. 

But  God  was  merciful !  and  when  the  snows 
Of  Winter  wrapped  the  earth  in  glist'ning  robes 
Of  bridal  whiteness,  to  her  cheeks  the  glow 
Of  coy,  reluctant  health  again  returned. 
Within  her  veins  the  pulse  of  new  life  burned. 
Her  eye  its  pristine  brightness  soon  regained. 
And  round  and  fuU  her  wasted  form  became. 

Her  mother  still  her  strong  dislike  retained 
To  Pansy's  choice  in  wedding ;  and  contrived 
The  sweet  initial  year  of  married  life 
To  render  one  with  stem  discomfort  rife, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  225 

And  many  pangs  of  pain,  to  say  the  least. 
By  showing  Pansy  she  was  much  displeased 
Not  only  at  her  marriage  to  the  man 
On  whom  she'd  chosen  to  bestow  her  hand 
In  contradiction  to  her  strong  desire 
And  opposition,  bvit,  with  all  the  ire 
And  want  of  reason  which,  in  invalids 
Like  her,  is  frequently  exhibited, 
At  Pansy's  illness  also,  which  deprived 
Her  mother  of  the  loving  care  her  life 
Of  helpless  pain  had  never  missed  before. 
And  thus,  day  after  day,  her  child  bent  o'er 
The  suff'rer's  couch  with  uncomplaining  care, 
Although  the  trembling  limbs,  and  weary  air, 
Betrayed  how  quite  unfit  she  was  to  bear 
The  arduous  task  of  nui-sing,  the  fatigue 
Of  ministering  to  the  constant  needs 
Of  one  so  fretful  and  capricious  too, 
As  was  at  times  the  invalid,  and  who 
'Twas  often  quite  impossible  to  please, 
Try  as  she  might  to  humor  each  caprice. 

Her  mother's  anger  greatly  troubled  her, 

Yet  even  that  had  not  the  pow'r  to  stir 
10* 


226  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Her  heart  witL.  grief  and  such  indignant  pain 

As  did  the  manner  Mrs.  Grey  maintained 

To  Pansy's  husband  ever — which  became 

Repellent  and  insulting  scarcely  less, 

As  time  passed  on,  and  caused  intense  distress 

To  one  who  loved  them  both  so  passing  well. 

But  David's  fine,  sweet  temper  never  held 

Resentment  for  a  moment  at  the  way 

In  which  he'd  e'er  been  used  by  Mrs.  Grey, 

And  gladly  aught  that  in  his  power  lay 

To  ease  or  soothe  the  weary  invalid. 

And  to  her  comfort  minister,  he  did. 

And  Pansy's  brother.  Temple,  for  a  time 
Was  no  less  insolent,  no  less  unkind, 
Than  was  his  mother.     Thus  another  source 
Of  strong  annoyance  rufiled  all  the  course 
Of  Pansy's  early  days  of  married  life ; 
And  speedily  she  found  that  when  a  wife 
She  had  become,  she  did  not  leave  behind 
All  vexing  cares,  all  troubles  of  the  mind 
Or  heart,  however  sweetly  she  reposed 
In  consciousness  of  love  ;  however  close 
The  tender  husband  arms  might  clasp  her  'round  ; 
However  true  and  perfect  were  the  bounds 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  227 

Of  their  now  rounded  lives,  this  troublous  world 
Still  many  a  night-sliade  wreath  of  para  held  curled 
Beneath  its  wings  of  brightness.     Not  a  joy 
So  perfect  but  it  held  some  base  alloy 
Of  past  or  future  grief,  and  not  a  dream 
So  lovely  but  it  had  some  gloomy  scene. 


Two  years  had  passed !  and  in  a  darkened  room 
To  faintness  filled  with  heavy,  rich  perfume. 
One  morn  of  beauty,  late  in  blooming  June, 
Upon  a  low  white  couch  a  lady  lay, 
With  eye  as  bright  as  was  the  sunny  day. 
And  smile  of  happy  sweetness  on  her  lips, 
Although  the  lily-cups  that  stoop  to  kiss 
Their  lowlier  neighbors  with  a  royal  air 
Of  condescension,  not  more  white  and  fair 
Were  ever  than  the  snowy  cheeks  that  pressed 
The  lace-trimmed  pillow,  as,  with  sighs  of  rest 
And  sweet  contentment,  to  her  throbbing  breast 
She  clasped  the  tiny  mite  of  human  life 
Which  rested  on  her  arm,  and  had  contrived 
Thus  early  to  absorb  within  its  form 
So  tiny,  fragile,  rosy,  soft,  and  wai'm. 


228  BROKEN  DEEAMS. 

Much  of  that  wondrous,  pow'rful  mother-love, 

Intense,  unselfish,  pure  and  sweet,  above 

All  other  earthly  passions.     Love  that  comes 

Unbidden,  with  the  first  faint  breath  of  one 

Our  heavenly  Father  gives  us  but  through  pain — 

But  lends  us  for  a  little  time,  again 

To  call  that  sentient  part  we  name  the  "  Sovl" 

Back  to  its  native  home,  where  waits  the  whole 

Of  its  immortal  kindred  to  receive 

The  wand'ring  spirit  back  with  welcome  sweet.  J 

As  Pansy  Golden  on  her  couch  reposed, 
And  held  her  tiny  baby-treasure  close. 
Although  so  lately  had  the  birdling  come 
To  add  sweet  childhood's  chax'm  to  their  dear  home, 
The  mother-love,  so  potent  and  complete, 
Through  all  her  feeble  pulses  strongly  beat. 
And  when  her  husband,  entering  the  door, 
And  softly  stepping  to  her  side,  bent  o'er 
His  happy  wife  with  beaming  tenderness. 
And  on  her  lips  love's  sweetest  kisses  pressed. 
She  said :  "  Oh  David,  have  you  seen  your  boy  ? 
Is  he  not  lovely  !  "  and  with  mother-joy 
She  folded  back  the  blankets  richly  wrought. 
Displaying  thus  a  rosy  face  she  thought 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  229 

Of  baby  beauty  the  perfection  quite. 
And  David,  with  a  more  subdued  delight, 
But  no  less  deep  and  perfect,  gently  raised 
The  tiny  morsel  from  his  wife's  embrace, 
And  on  the  wrinkled,  pink-hued,  velvet  face, 
Of  this,  their  one  sweet  pledge  of  wedded  love. 
This  lovely  blossom  sent  from  Heaven  above. 
His  first  parental  kisses  softly  pressed, 
Then  laid  it  back  upon  its  mother's  breast. 
And  felt  that  life  another  charm  possessed. 
That  his  fair  wife  was  loveliest  and  best. 
His  child  the  sweetest  babe  that  ever  blest 
A  father's  heart  with  deep  and  thankful  joy. 

As  time  passed  on  and  fairer  grew  the  boy, 
So  wonderful  a  child  was  never  seen ! 
No  baby  eyes  e'er  shone  with  such  a  gleam 
Of  roguish  radiance,  no  baby  lips 
So  soft  and  sweet  and  pure  were  ever  kissed. 
No  infant  limbs  were  e'er  so  round  and  white, 
No  laugh  was  e'er  so  gleeful,  face  so  bright. 
No  baby  ways  so  witching,  roguish,  sweet, 
Ne'er  were  such  dainty  hands,  such  dimpled  feet. 
As  had  this  infant  king,  who  with  a  way 
Despotic  as  an  Eastei-n  monarch's  sway, 


230  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Ruled  every  member  of  that  household  band. 
Who  but  obeyed  too  gladly  each  command 
Of  such  a  worshipped  ruler. 

'Twas  a  sight 
Of  charming  loveliness  to  see  the  bright 
And  beauteous  boy  held  close  within  the  arms 
Of  one  to  whom  her  motherhood  new  charms 
Imparted,  while  with  happy,  smiling  face. 
And  attitude  of  sweet,  unconscious  grace, 
She  gayly  sported  with  her  mirthful  boy^ 
Whose  baby  laugh,  so  sweet,  and  full  of  joy. 
Rang  blithely  out  in  ripples  soft  and  clear. 
Echoed  by  one  which  on  the  list'ning  ear 
Fell  scarcely  less  bewitchingly  and  sweet. 
And  spoke  of  joy  as  innocent  as  deep. 

What  fairer  sight  was  e'er  to  mortal  eyes 
Presented !     And  in  vain  the  artist  tries 
With  all  the  skill  of  which  he  is  possessed 
To  leave  the  picture  on  his  canvas  pressed : 
In  vain  the  sculptor  from  his  marble  block 
Attempts  with  master  art  to  chisel  what 
No  tool  or  pencil  can  do  justice  to. 
How,  then,  can  I  expect  to  give  to  you. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  231 

My  reader,  with  my  own  unskilful  pen. 

What  many  of  our  noblest,  greatest  men 

Have  ever  failed  in  efforts  to  portray. 

But  all  of  you  have  seen,  day  after  day, 

A  fair  madonna  and  her  lovely  babe, 

And  know  how  sweet  a  picture  thus  was  made. 

Look  on  the  fairest  lady  that  you  know, 

As  o'er  her  infant  she  is  bending  low, 

And  see  a  sculptured  group,  by  hand  Divine 

Carved  grandly  out — of  which  these  words  of  mine 

Are  but  a  worthless  copy,  small  and  rough, 

And  with  a  hand  unskilful  rudely  cut. 


Time  swiftly  sped  'till  six  months  more  were  gone  ! 
The  summer  vanished,  and  the  wintry  storms 
Had  shaken  from  the  clouded,  weeping  sky, 
A  shower  of  frozen  tear-drops,  piling  high 
The  crystal  mites  above  the  gloomy  .tomb 
Of  all  the  year's  dead  beauty. 

In  a  room 
Whose  curtains  closely  drawn  shut  oiit  the  light, 
Upon  a  couch  all  draped  in  snowy  white, 
A  figure  lay,  as  still  as  if  the  breath 
Had  ceased  to  flutter,  and  the  Angel  Death 


232  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Who  now  stood  tiptoe  near  the  lo"w,  white  bed, 
Had  on  the  lady's  haughty,  handsome  head 
His  heavy  hand  of  ice  already  placed, 
And  set  his  marble  seal  upon  the  face 
E'en  in  its  rigid  stillness,  lovely  yet. 
Closed  were  the  fine  large  eyes  of  lustrous  jet, 
And  on  the  ashen  cheeks  the  lashes  lay 
Without  a  tremor — lips  to  ghastly  gray 
Were  paling  rapidly  beneath  the  taint 
Of  coming  death — each  respiration  faint 
And  fainter  grew,  while  near  and  nearer  pressed 
The  shad'wy  form  of  their  unwelcome  guest. 
That  ghastly  presence  whose  mysterious  chill 
Strikes  every  soul  with  dread,  that  seems  to  fill 
Each  nook  and  comer  of  a  dwelling-place 
He  once  has  entered,  leaving  there  a  trace 
Of  mystic  horror,  few  can  e'er  resist. 
Explain,  or  conquer. 

Logic  to  assist 
The  mind  to  rise  above  this  nameless  fear, 
We  summon  but  in  vain — it  still  is  here, 
However  Reason  argue.     All  in  vain 
She  shows  to  us  our  folly,  and  explains 


BROKEIT  DREAMS.  233 

Tlie  pure  impossibility  that  harm 

Should  come  to  us  from  one  whom  Death  disarms 

Of  all  his  former  power.     In  vain  inquires 

Why  one  we  dearly  loved  in  life  inspires 

Such  shrinking  dread  when  but  the  pulseless  form 

Remains  of  what  but  lately  was  so  warm 

With  bounding,  throbbing  life.     For  while  we  own 

Our  fear  is  causeless,  and  perhaps  bemoan 

Our  weakness  thus  to  yield  to  such  a  dread, 

When  night  comes  on  with  gloomy,  stealthy  tread, 

Back  comes  the  ghostly  terror,  and  in  spite 

Of  Reason's  sophistry,  which  in  the  light 

Of  golden  day  so  plausible  had  seemed, 

Our  courage  all  has  vanished  like  a  dream 

From  which  we're  rudely  'wakened,  and  the  scene 

Where  Death  is,  or  has  been,  is  visited 

With  furtive  glance,  with  trembling  limbs  and  tread, 

And  heart  with  hushed  pulsations. 

Few,  I  think. 
So  brave  in  spirit  are  as  ne'er  to  shrink 
With  horror  from  the  presence  of  the  dead. 
All  more  or  less  have  felt  the  nameless  dread, 
For  all  within  their  natures  have  a  vein 
Of  human  superstition. 


234  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

It  is  plain 
We  often  fear  what  we  can  ne'er  explain ; 
And  therefore  'tis  the  mystery,  I  think, 
Attending  our  departure  from  the  brink 
Of  Time  to  vast  Eternity — whose  shore 
Is  never  seen  till  we've  been  paddled  o'er 
The  stream  of  Death — that  causes  us  fco  fear 
The  supernatural  Presence  ling'ring  here, 
The  fact  we're  powerless  to  penetrate 
Beyond  the  confines  of  this  human  state. 
The  mystic  veil  which  from  our  finite  sight 
Hides  the  departing  soul's  triumphant  flight. 
The  dark,  mysterious  way  our  loved  one  trod, 
When  flitted  back  the  spirit  to  his  God. 

And  so  poor  Pansy's  mother,  Mrs.  Grey, 
Lay  silent  on  her  couch,  while  ebbed  away 
The  flick'ring  pulse  of  life.     Disease  for  long 
Had  held  in  his  embraces,  stem  and  strong, 
This  poor  fraU  human  frame.     This  fearful  strife 
Between  the  potent  powers  of  Death  and  Life 
Had  been  both  long  and  sharp ;  but  Death  at  last 
The  life-camp's  outposts  had  in  triumph  passed, 
And  now  as  conqueror  his  fallen  foe 
He  grimly  bent  above,  the  fatal  blow 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  235 

Delaying  but  a  moment,  while  he  held 

The  manacles  of  ice  with  which  to  queli. 

His  enemy's  resistance,  and  to  giiard 

The  feeble,  vanquished  captive,  while  his  barque 

Should  bear  them  rapidly  across  the  stream, 

So  dark  if  'twere  not  for  the  golden  gleam 

Of  light  that  glimmers  through  the  pearly  gates 

Of  God's  celestial  Kingdom,  where  awaits 

A  welcome  for  the  prisoners  of  Death, 

If  they  can  say  ere  fails  the  falt'ring  breath, 

"  I  trust  in  Jesus,  who  for  me  has  died. 

In  Him,  my  Counsellor,  Redeemer,  Guide." 

•      Thus  could  His  present  captive  truly  say. 
While  lips  grew  pale  and  pulses  ebbed  away. 
Her  Saviour's  arm  through  many  a  weary  day 
Of  untold  agony  had  been  her  stay  ; 
But.  though  for  many  years  within  her  heart    ** 
The  Christian's  hope  she'd  cherished,  'till  a  part 
Of  life  and  being  it  had  long  become, 
And  though  more  racking  pain  not  many  an  one 
Have  suffered  and  endured,  and  though  her  life 
Appeared  to  be  of  all  its  charms  deprived. 
And  but  one  long,  long  day  of  weary  pain 
Which  fretted  nerves,  and  racked  the  poor,  frail  frame, 


236  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

Depriving  it  of  all  volition,  still 

She  clung  to  life,  with  all  her  force  of  wiU 

Determined  never  to  give  up  the  field 

Or  to  her  enemy  so  potent  yield, 

Until  by  force  her  strength  was  overcome, 

And  she  compelled  as  pris'ner  to  succumb 

And  own  that  Death  was  conqueror.     At  length 

Her  feeble  frame's  resistance  all  was  spent, 

And  o'er  her  Death  was  grimly  bending  now, 

His  icy  breath  already  fanned  her  brow. 

Her  feet  already  touched  the  chilling  waves 

Of  Jordan's  stream,  whose  cold,  cold  waters  laved 

The  shore  of  Time  where  faintly  lingered  yet 

The  poor,  reluctant  spirit. 

Eound  her  bed 
Were  gathered  all  the  treasured  ones  of  earth, 
Her  precious  household  jewels,  at  whose  birth   • 
•Her  mother-heart  had  leaped  with  perfect  joy — 
Her  weeping  daughter  and  her  one  proud  boy, 
And  he,  that  other  now  acknowledged  son. 
Whose  kindly  care  and  tenderness  had  won 
The  prejudiced,  proud  heart,  whose  manly  strength 
Had  in  her  service  been  so  freely  spent, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  237 

Whose  strong  and  tender  arms  the  poor  racked  frame 

Had  lifted  oft  so  carefully  no  pain 

The  dreaded  motion  followed — he  was  there, 

And  bending  o'er  his  stricken  wife's  low  chair, 

He  whispered  words  of  comfort  in  the  ear 

Of  her  whose  heart  seemed  bursting  with  the  drear 

Bereavement  it  was  called  upon  to  bear. 

That  fearful  anguish  which  can  be  compared 

To  none  beside  :  a  grief  which  stands  alone. 

And  though  to  many  hearts  there  may  be  known 

Much  deeper,  sharper  sorrow,  fiercer  pain. 

And  agony  intenser  in  the  main, 

Than  death  could  bring  to  them,  they're  all  unlike 

That  fearful  grief  of  watching  by  the  side 

Of  one  we  dearly  love,  and  knowing  well 

We're  impotent  to  stem  the  rising  swell 

Of  Jordan's  tide,  which  speedily  shall  bear 

Our  treasures  far  beyond  our  loving  care. 

Beyond  our  longing  reach,  our  straining  sight, 

To  realms  of  blessedness  and  pure  delight. 

Where  they  will  wait  our  coming. 

That,  indeed, 

To  hearts  that  with  such  grievous  sorrow  bleed, 


238  BROKEN  DREAM8. 

Is  all  the  healing  balm  that  can  be  given — 

The  thought  that  in  our  Saviour's  glorious  Heaven, 

So  fair,  no  mortal  heart  has  e'er  conceived 

The  beauty  that  adorns  the  golden  streets. 

They  watch  and  wait  for  us — that  in  that  home 

No  care  or  pain  or  sorrow  e'er  can  come, 

That  there  our  loved  ones  may  forever  rest. 

Safe,  blessed,  holy,  on  their  Saviour's  breast. 

Life  many  bitter  pains  and  sorrows  hath 
In  store  for  those  who  thread  its  thorny  paths. 
And  each  one  seemeth  to  our  poor  weak  hearts 
To  hold  the  sharpest  woe,  the  fiercest  smart. 
We  madly  love,  and  find  it  all  in  vain, 
Unknown  and  unreturned,  and  deem  the  pain, 
The  aggravating  grief  such  knowledge  gives, 
The  hardest  one  can  e'er  endure  and  Kve. 
Again,  we  find  our  confidence  betrayed. 
Our  loved  ones  false,  our  hopes  a  failure  made. 
And  turn  away  with  hearts  all  wounded,  sore. 
From  life  that  holds  such  grievous  stabs  in  store. 
Or  else  a  child— a  brother — we  believed 
The  soul  of  truth  and  honor,  has  deceived. 
Dishonored,  and  disgraced  us.     In  despair 
We  feel  this  blow  the  hardest  one  to  bear 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  239 

That  life  could  offer  us ;  and  wildly  cry, 
"  Oh,  God,  have  pity  on  me,  let  me  die ! 
Oh,  would  my  idol  Thou  had'st  snatched  away 
When  on  his  fair,  soft  cheek  the  roses  lay 
Of  infant  beauty ;  when  his  baby  Jieart 
Was  pure  and  innocent  in  every  part; 
Ere  life  had  shown  him  what  it  was  to  sin, 
And  paths  of  worldly  folly  drawn  him  in ; 
Then  had  my  soul  been  spared  this  bitter  woe. 
Oh,  life  is  worthless  ;  Father,  let  me  go !  " 

If  none  of  these,  then  Death,  perchance,  steps  in. 
And  beckons  one  that  to  our  hearts  has  been 
The  dearest  object  all  the  earth  contained. 
His  bidding  is  obeyed  ;  for  ne'er  in  vain 
Doth  he  for  mortals  call.     And  though  we  fain 
In  arms  of  love  our  dear  ones  would  retain, 
However  passionate  and  close  our  hold. 
We  feel  the  tender  frame  grow  pulseless,  cold. 
The  breath  ebb  swiftly  out,  until  at  last 
When  we  release  them  from  our  eager  clasp. 
We  find  our  loving  hold  was  but  in  vain. 
The  gem  is  gone,  and  nothing  now  remains 
Except  the  lovely  casket.     This  to  us 
Seems  giief  without  equality. 


240  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

And  thus 
We  see  each  trial  has  its  own  amount 
Of  agonizing  grief,  and  which  we  count 
The  sharpest  life  could  bear  us.     Therefore  who 
Presumes  to  say,  "  The  pain  that  comes  to  you 
Is  nothing  when  compared  to  grief  like  mine  "  ? 
We  cannot  tell !     So  versatile  are  minds 
That  what  to  me  would  be  life's  sorest  woe, 
And  crush  my  heart  and  lay  my  courage  low, 
To  you,  perhaps,  would  be  the  lightest  blow 
The  chast'ning  rod  of  Jesus  could  inflict. 
And  likewise,  what  might  greatly  you  afflict. 
And  bow  your  head  as  in  the  very  dust, 
To  me  might  seem  a  trifling  grievance. 

Thus, 
Poor  Pansy  holding  her  unconscious  boy. 
Unheeding  all  his  wiles,  his  baby  joy. 
Supported  by  the  tender,  manly  arm 
Encircling  her,  whose  clasp,  so  close  and  warm. 
Expresses  all  the  sympathy  that  beats 
Within  his  loving  heart — with  anguish  weeps 
Above  the  silent  form  whose  failing  breath 
She  watches  close,  till  on  the  breast  of  Death 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  241 

The  last  faint  respiration  flutt'ring  dies, 
And  'neath  Ms  kisses  close  the  weary  eyes. 

Oh,  who  can  tell  how  lonely  seem  the  rooms 
Where  lately  Death  has  spread  his  robes  of  gloom ! 
How  dark  the  silent  corridors,  whose  floors 
Shall  echo  to  the  loved  one's  tread  no  more ; 
How  desolate  the  chambers  seem  wherein 
The  loved,  famiHar  form  so  long  had  been ; 
How  sad  the  vacant  chair,  the  empty  bed. 
How  all  things  seem  repeating  "dead!  dead!  dead!  " 


And  time  still  glides  along  !     Six  months  have  passecj 

Since  Pansy  Golden,  weeping,  looked  her  last 

•Upon  her  mother's  pulseless  form  and  face. 

When  Jesus  called  her  home,  and  left  her  place 

Unfilled  and  desolate,  and  she  again 

Attempts  in  vain  the  tide  of  grief  to  stem. 

Which  tries  at  every  step  to  overwhelm 

Her  poor,  frail  life-barque  on  the  sea  of  Time, 

Which  seems  so  many  hidden  reefs  to  find 

Beneath  the  crested  waves  that  looked  so  blue : 

Again  in  agony  is  wading  through 
11 


242  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

The  deep,  deep  waters  of  afiliction  sore, 
And  with  a  breaking  heart  is  bending  o'er 
The  fairy  couch  where  lies  her  infant  boy. 
His  dark  eyes  closed,  his  rippling  laugh  of  joy 
To  silence  hushed ;  while  through  the  purple  lips 
Which  give  no  answer  to  the  anguished  kiss 
Thereon  impressed,  a  faint,  low  moan  of  pain, 
That  seems  to  rend  the  mother's  heart  in  twain. 
Is  issuing  momently. 

"  Oh  God,"  she  prays. 
With  whitened  Hps  and  anguished,  tear- wet  face, 
"  I  cannot  give  him  up  !  oh,  spare  my  boy, 
My  one  wee  lamb,  my  comfort,  treasure,  joy  ! 
Thy  heaven  is  full  of  cherubs  Kke  to  mine. 
Oh,  spare  my  idol  for  a  little  time ! 
Close  not  his  perfect  lips  with  Death's  cold  seal, 
Nor  from  his  dainty  limbs  the  Kfe-pulse  steal ! 
I  cannot  part  with  him  !  oh  God,  I  pray. 
Be  merciful ;  in  mercy  turn  away 
The  arrows  of  Thy  wrath.     This  crowning  woe 
Is  more  than  I  can  bear !   oh,  must  he  go, 
\  My  baby,  treasure,  pet  ?  " 

But  vain  her  prayers, 
Her  wild  entreaties  that  her  God  would  spare 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  243 

This  lamb  to  arms  of  yearning  motlier-love, 
This  flower  but  lent  to  her  by  One  above, 
Who  now  desired  her  blossom  to  transplant 
Within  the  Heavenly  Gardens,  where  by  hands 
Divine  it  should  be  tended,  kept  away 
From  all  the  guile  of  earth,  until  the  day 
When  she  should  enter  through  the  pearly  gates, 
And  in  the  flow'ry  crown  which  there  awaits, 
Behold  her  lovely  blossom  glorified, 
And  with  a  Heavenly  beauty  richly  dyed. 

But  while  she  watched  her  baby's  cheek  grow  pale. 
She  could  not  look  beyond  the  heavy  veil 
Of  sullen  gloom  that  settled  o'er  her  head, 
As  once  again  she  saw  a  shadow  dread 
Creep  o'er  their  happy  threshold.     Could  not  see 
That  what  to  her  would  fearful  anguish  be. 
To  him,  her  baby  treasure,  wovild  be  gain,  » 

And  freedom  from  all  earthly  sin  and  pain, 
'Till  in  her  heart  a  whisper  soft  and  low, 
Hushed  the  rebellious  waves  of  grievous  woe, 
And  while  she  listened  came  the  tender  tones 
Of  Him  who  had  for  her  on  Calvary  groaned  : 


244  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

"  Oh  bush ,  My  child  !     'Tis  not  in  wrath  I  send 
This  sorrow  to  thy  heart  !     In  love  I  bend 
The  bow  which  sends  the  fatal  arrow  home, 
And  wounding  thee,  but  gives  me  back  My  own. 
I  only  gather  in  My  tender  arms 
The  lamb  thou'rt  impotent  to  shield  from  harm ; 
But  bear  thy  treasure  on  before,  a  time, 
Where,  when  I  call  thee  also,  thou  shalt  find 
Awaiting  thee  within  thy  mansion  fair — 
By  One  who  loves  and  died  for  thee,  prepared. 
Which  I  have  bought  by  suff 'rings  like  to  thine — 
Thy  precious  babe,  whose  lovely  face  shall  shine 
With  heav'nly  radiance,  as  he  welcomes  home 
No  more  to  sin,  to  grieve,  no  more  to  roam. 
The  loving  ones  of  earth.     Oh,  think,  my  child, 
Of  all  the  earthly  stains,  the  sorrow  wild. 
The  cares  and  troubles  of  this  mortal  life. 
From  which  thy  boy'll  be  shielded.     Think  what  I've 
For  thee  endured !  and  canst  thou  not  give  up 
For  me  this  one  bright  jewel  ?     Take  the  cup. 
And  drink  submissively,  and  thou  shalt  find 
That  when  thou'st  quaffed  ihe  froth  of  bitter  wine. 
The  dregs  are  sweet  as  nectar.     Trust  my  love. 
And  when  thou'st  gained  thy  better  home  above, 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  245 

Thou'lt  find  tliy  griefs  are  blessings  in  disguise, 
And  sent  by  One  all-loving  as  all- wise." 

The  stricken  soul  still  wailed,  but  not  in  waves 
Rebellious  did  the  troubled  waters  rave. 
Tears  coursed  in  silence  down  the  poor,  pale  cheeks, 
And  words  of  love  the  mother-lips  did  speak, 
In  trembling  tones  were  uttered.     Yast  and  deep 
The  anguish  was  which  raged  within  the  heart 
Compelled  to  with  its  dearest  treasure  part, 
And  high  it  swelled  as  she  her  wounded  bird — 
Whose  wings  were  drooping  with  a  mortal  hurt. 
Within  whose  tender  breast  the  shaft  of  Death 
Was  buried  deep,  whose  faint  and  flutt'ring  breath 
Came  but  in  gasps — held  tight  within  the  arms 
Of  mother-love,  whose  pressure,  close  and  warm. 
Must  soon  relax,  and  yield  the  precious  dove 
To  clasp  more  fond  than  that  of  human  love, 
Must  lay  her  baby  on  the  breast  of  God, 
And  kiss  submissively  His  chast'ning  rod. 

And  so  with  tears  and  groans  and  anguished  grief 
She  saw  her  blossom  fade,  whose  life  so  brief 
Had  shed  such  fragrance  through  her  happy  home, 
Since  from  her  Father's  hand  the  gift  had  come. 


246  BROKEN  DBEAlfS. 

Saw  slowly  dim  the  little  lamp  of  life, 

Whose  shining  had  with  so  much  joy  been  rife, — 

And  held  at  last  the  lovely  cage  alone, 

From  which  her  birdie  had  forever  flown — 

The  lovely  semblance  of  her  precious  boy. 

Whose  pure,  sweet  soul  through  x-ealms  of  endless  joy 

Was  gladly  bounding ; — held  the  casket  fair, 

From  which  the  priceless  jewel,  lately  there, 

Was  lost  forever,  to  be  found  above. 

Set  in  the  breastplate  of  a  Saviour's  love. 

Oh,  what  a  mystery  is  life  and  death ! 
The  thinking  soul,  the  flowing,  ebbing  breath ; 
That  mystic  moiety  of  the  Father's  heart, 
Which  He  for  just  a  little  time  imparts  ^ 

To  these  poor  human  caskets,  frail  and  thin, 
To  prove  our  close  relationship  ^vith  Him, 
And  who  anon  will  welcome  us  within 
The  gleaming  gates  of  home,  where  we  shall  find 
Ourselves  in  arms  of  Father  love  divine. 
The  while  our  Elder  Brother,  standing  by, 
,  With  yearning  smile  and  tender,  loving  eye. 
Speaks  His  glad  greeting  to  the  welcome  one, 
Long  absent,  but  at  last  arrived  at  home. 


BROKEN  DREAMS.  247 

'Twill  not  be  long  before  we  all  are  there  ! 
Those  soonest  called  most  rarely  favored  are. 
Oh,  how  unstained  and  pure  we  should  attempt 
To  keep  these  jewels  that  are  only  lent, 
That  when  our  Father  caUs  for  their  return, 
They  may  not  be  from  ELim  with  anger  spumed, 
In  consequence  of  being  all  defaced 
With  nicks  of  sin  that  nothing  can  erase. 

So  Pansy  turned  another  bitter  leaf 
Within  her  book  of  life  !     The  thorny  wreath 
That  crowned  and  often  pierced  her  woman's  brow, 
With  one  more  prickly  stem  was  bristling  now; 
And  sore  at  heart,  with  aching,  tear-wet  eyes. 
With  bitter  moan,  and  sharp,  convulsive  sighs. 
She  saw  her  latest  idol  snatched  away. 
While  all  her  dreams  in  mournful  ruins  lay. 


One  scene  of  beauty  ere  we  bid  adieu 
To  those  whom  sun  and  shade  we've  followed  through, 
-  For  many  changeful  years. 

Five  times  the  shroud 
Of  stern  old  Winter,  in  a  snowy  cloud, 


248  BBOEEN  DBEAM8. 

Has  wrapped  the  dead  brown  eartli ;  five  times  the  gleam 

Of  glowing  Summer,  with  a  purple  sheen, 

Has  lingered  on  the  hill-tops,  when,  one  day 

Late  in  September,  beautiful  and  gay, 

We  enter  David  Golden's  handsome  grounds, 

For  one  last  ling'ring  look.     A  glance  around, 

And  near  an  arbor  hung  with  green  festoons, 

And  decked  with  luscious  gi-apes  whose  purple  bloom 

Glows  richly  when  relieved  by  trellis  white, 

And  wreaths  of  lustrous  green  the  shifting  light 

With  varied  shading  tints,  a  merry  group 

Our  eyes  behold. 

From  lofty  ladder  stoops 
A  tall,  broad-shouldered  man,  with  happy  face, 
With  smiling  lips,  and  eyes  that  hold  no  trace, 
In  this  glad  moment,  of  a  long-past  pain, 
A  grief  that  near  his  heart  for  years  had  lain ; 
While  on  the  ground,  within  the  arbor  door, 
Whose  rustic  arch  with  trailing  vines  'wreathed  o'er 
A  fitting  frame  for  such  a  picture  forms, 
A  lady  stands,  whose  damask  cheek  is  warm 
With  happy  flushes,  and  whose  violet  eyes 
Are  scarcely  rivalled  by  the  purple  dyes 


BROKEN  DBEAM8.  249 

That  stain  tlie  clustered  fruit  above  her  heaU, 
Whose  laughing  lips  with  health's  sweet  flush  are  red, 
•Whose  flowing  robes  of  white  which  sweep  the  ground 
Betray  the  form  has  gro"\\Ta  more  full  and  round, 
While  from  her  arms  a  two-year  baby  girl. 
The  lady's  counterpart  in  flowing  curls, 
In  sunny  smile,  soft  eyes,  and  peach-bloom  cheeks, 
With  merry  glee  her  dimpled  hands  up-reach 
To  grasp  the  ripened  clusters  which,  with  smiles, 
The  happy  father  tosses  do^vn  the  while. 

A  pretty  picture  !  shifting  light  and  shade, 
A  leafy  background,  rustic  frame  o'erlaid 
With  fruited,  drooping  vines,  the  lovely  child 
In  dainty  robes,  with  glee  and  laughter  wild, 
The  graceful  mother  with  her  noble  face 
WTiereon  her  lovely  life  has  left  sweet  trace, 
And  rounded  form  full  of  unconscious  grace, 
Each  looking  up  to  meet  the  tender  eyes 
Of  him  whose  love  completes  their  rounded  lives, 
And  over  all  the  radiance  soft  and  bright. 
Of  Heaven's  own  unrivalled,  brilliant  light. 

We'll  leave  them  there  !     Life  still  may  have  in  store, 

Perchance,  of  "  broken  dfeams,"  a  many  more  ; 
11* 


250  BROKEN  DREAMS. 

For  scarce  a  year  but  holds  some  record  dark 
Of  days  of  sorrow,  disappointments  sharp, 
To  every  sensitive,  frail  human  heart. 
But  while  in  arms  of  love  divine  seciire, 
Their  happiness,  come  weal  or  woe,  is  sure. 
And  thus  we  leave  them  in  the  hands  of  One 
Who  leads  us  "  onward,  upward,"  to  our  homo. 


L'  ENVOI. 


My  reader,  if  in  efforts  to  portray 
The  life  I've  held  in  view  from  day  to  day, 
I've  had  success  sufficient  to  retain 
Your  interest  to  the  end,  I  now  would  fain 
In  closing  say  to  you,  no  fancy  sketch 
This  story  is,  I  faintly  thus  have  etched, 
But  in  its  outline  is  the  life  of  one 
I  deem  the  sweetest  woman  I  have  known, 
Whose  lovely  life  and  person  have  inspired 
With  admiration  one  who  has  desired 
No  task  more  pleasant  than  with  what  poor  skill 
She  may  possess,  these  oxitliues  brief  to  fill 
With  incident  and  feeling,  which,  supplied 
Alone  by  fancy,  should  not  once  imply 


252  X' .  ENVOI. 

A  thought  of  aught  save  rev'rent,  tender  love 
For  one  gone  home  to  God — called  up  above 
When  in  the  bloom  of  youthful  wedded  life, 
A  loving  mother  and  a  happy  wife  ; 
And  leaving  all  her  earthly  loves  behind, 
Went  "  onward,  upward,"  purer  joys  to  find. 
Where  waiting  for  her  coming  was  a  band 
Of  loved  ones  gone  before  to  that  bright  land — 
Her  mother,  father,  friends,  and  cherished  child, 
Her  God's  approval,  and  her  Saviour's  smile. 


Vims. 


24345 

■5 


mSsE^^^^^^y 


AA      000  251933 


r 


